


You Just Took Me By Surprise

by NarryMusings



Series: Married at First Sight [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Falling In Love, Light Angst, M/M, Mild Smut, Smut, Strangers to Lovers, married at first sight au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-05
Updated: 2018-11-30
Packaged: 2019-07-25 10:18:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 51,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16195532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NarryMusings/pseuds/NarryMusings
Summary: “‘s crazy, innit?” Niall asks. “Like- It’s literally insane to think we just got married after not even five minutes of knowing each other.”Harry giggles. “I know. I think it’ll be fun though. It’ll be good.”Niall arches an eyebrow. “Good?”“Yeah,” Harry nods, looking sideways at him. “Good. I have high hopes. I mean, look at you- Why wouldn’t I have high hopes?”Niall blushes, tears his gaze away from Harry’s to look outside again.“But also, even if it doesn’t work out, at least we’ll have done a bit of travelling for free, right? Dunno about you, but I’ve always wanted to go to Italy — and I’ve got a good feeling about this honeymoon of ours. Plus, even if it doesn’t work out, I hope that we still like each other enough to be friends after this, you know? And if so, then whatever is about to happen will be worth it somehow, in the end.”“You’re awfully optimistic,” Niall notes.“I get that from my mother," Harry smirks. He lifts his glass up, gestures silently for Niall to do the same — which he does. Harry’s cocktail to Niall’s pint. “To new adventures, new experiences, new friends-“ He knocks his shoulder against Niall’s. “And maybe even to falling in love, yeah?”





	1. The Wedding

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sapphirestylan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphirestylan/gifts).



_ [The Wedding] _

.

.

Harry frets when he’s nervous. Well, technically speaking he frets quite frequently, over a variety of things, but he frets even more when he’s nervous. And he honest to God thinks that he has never been so nervous before in his life.

His stomach churns. His palms sweat. His heart beats so wildly in his chest that it feels as though it’s trying to run a marathon. He’s so fucking nervous that his hand is shaking when he runs it through his hair.

It’s also getting a little bit hard to breathe and he can’t tell if it’s because the bow on his dress shirt is too tight, or if it’s because everyone else in the room is using up all the oxygen. Nevertheless, he tugs at the bow until it comes loose, the two pieces of fabric fluttering down – and his sister scowls at him from across the room.

She makes a beeline for him, from where she’d been tending to her hair in the mirror next to the large bay window that overlooks the city of London. “Do you even remember how long it took me to perfect that bow?” she sighs, as she immediately gets back to re-doing Harry’s bow.

“Sorry,” Harry mutters, looking at her.

The look on Gemma’s face softens. “It’s okay to be nervous, y’know,” she whispers, her gaze trained on the fabric she’s working between her fingers.

“I know.”

“But not too nervous,” she adds. “Don’t want to get cold feet.”

He hums, lets his gaze flicker towards the other side of the room to land on his mother, who’s dressed in a beautiful coral summer dress, as she talks to one of the producers in the doorway.

“I mean- Not that you could, technically. Right?”

“Right,” he replies, clearing the lump from his throat. “Yeah. I don’t- I don’t have cold feet, though. I just- What if…”

“What if what, bug?” She finishes with the bow, brushes her hands across his shoulders, and looks at him intently, curiously.

“What if it’s awful? What if  _ he’s _ awful? What if the whole thing is just one huge mistake and I’m stuck with it for the next two months?”

“Well,” she starts, sighing softly, “you deal with it for the next two months, and then you never have to deal with it again.”

And, well, yeah. She’s right. It’s still incredibly unsettling though, now that it’s actually here – now that it’s actually going to be a reality.

“You have to stop thinking so negatively though, bug,” she tells him, then. “I mean, first of all- This was your idea, remember?”

Harry sighs, just barely holds back a groan. “I know.” He’d seen the ad online – ‘ _Looking for love?_   _ Get married at first sight!’ _ – and his first thought was to keep scrolling, which is exactly what he’d done. It wasn’t until later that week, after he’d gone on his fourth shitty date of the month, as he was crawling into bed alone, his pride wounded, that he’d truly thought about it. He went to sleep thinking about it, woke up thinking about it – went about an entire week thinking about it before he’d finally bitten the bullet because, well, it wasn’t like he’d have anything to lose.

His mother had sort of had a meltdown about it when he’d told her, a month later, that his application had been accepted and that he’d be marrying a stranger in four weeks’ time. (She’d come around after about two days, though, mostly because his stepfather had convinced her that it was essentially equivalent to going on a date with a stranger – one that lasted exactly 60 days, but a date with a stranger no less. At least this way he would be supervised almost 24/7.) Gemma’s reaction to the news that her baby brother was getting hitched, on television no less, was surprisingly pleasant for a girl who has never taken a risk of her own.

“And, I mean- You never know, right? This could be a good thing, or at least  _ not _ a terrible thing. Who knows- You might even end up liking the bloke.”

“Or I could end up hating him,” Harry blurts.

Gemma scowls at him. “Would you stop being so pessimistic? It isn’t that big of a deal. You’re getting married for two months – if it works out, then great! If it doesn’t work out, then you have a story to tell your  _ real _ future husband.”

“’m not sure that’s something I’ll want to tell my real future husband, honestly.”

“Who are you, and what have you done with my usually very optimistic – sometimes  _ too _ optimistic – baby brother?”

“The butterflies in his stomach are eating him alive from the inside out,” he deadpans. It honestly does feel that way, though, down in the pit of his stomach.

Gemma rolls her eyes. “You’re so dramatic. Go fix your hair, I reckon we have to be downstairs soon.”

And then she’s off, walking towards their mother, and Harry feels his stomach sink.

X

“What do you mean you’re  _ leaving _ ?”

“Is that a rhetorical question, or do you really need me to explain it to you?” Niall asks, although his tone is anything but curious. Frustrated? Yes. Sarcastic? Double yes. Livid? Absolutely.

Louis rolls his eyes. “What I mean, Niall, is- You’re due to tie the knot in about 15 minutes, you can’t just leave-“

“Watch me,” Niall tells him firmly. He walks past him, towards the exit, thankful that it’s only the two of them here right now because it means that he doesn’t have to deal with anyone else on his way out. He can leave and pretend like his best friend didn’t just betray him.

“You literally, legally cannot leave,” is the sentence that stops him in his tracks, right before he reaches for the doorknob.

Niall turns around, then, narrow gaze focused on the man-child in front of him. “What the bloody hell are you talking about?”

“You have a contractual obligation to follow through-“

“Tommo- What the  _ fuck _ are you talking about?”

Louis sighs, licks his lips. “Remember when you were really drunk a couple of months ago and I thought it would funny to sign you up and you told me you’d never in a million years marry a complete stranger, not even for a million pounds? Well- I may have gone ahead and signed you up anyway, and as it turns out, the moment I hit the  _ submit _ button, it signed you into a contract.”

“A contract,” Niall echoes disbelievingly. His stomach feels like it’s going to fall out through his asshole.

“Hence why you can’t leave,” Louis tells him. “Literally.”

“You’re joking,” Niall scoffs. “Tell me you’re fucking joking, Louis.”

Louis shakes his head.

“So you’re telling me that you signed me up for some stupid experiment for which I have to marry, and stay married to, a bloody stranger for two months, when I was drunk, despite the fact that I was against it – and I still have to go through with it because my name is in a contract?”

Louis nods.

Niall raises an eyebrow. “Where’s the contract?”

Louis pulls his phone out of the back pocket of his trousers, unlocks it with a simple swipe of his thumb, and then turns the phone towards Niall. And there, sitting in Louis’ email, is a contract – with Niall’s name on it.

Niall sighs. And then groans as he flops back onto the couch situated in the middle of the room. He runs a hand through his hair and the other over his face. “Why would you do this to me?”

“You’ve been lonely,” Louis says softly.

Niall rolls his eyes. “I haven’t been lonely.”

It’s Louis’ turn to scoff. “You spent the entire first two weeks after your breakup with she-who-shall-not-be-named holed up in your flat, barely eating or sleeping. The two weeks that followed that was a mixture of nothing but take away, drinking too much, and nameless, sometimes faceless shags. I signed you up during week three.

“And now you’re just- It’s been a month and a half since then and you’re just – lonely. It’s sort of pitiful, actually.”

“And  _ you _ decided that the best thing for  _ me _ was to get me married to a complete stranger?”

“I thought it would be good for you, y’know?” Louis murmurs. “To get out of your comfort zone, to get back in the game-“

“Getting back in the game would be setting me up on a stupid fucking Tinder date!” Niall finds himself shouting. His outburst surprises even himself, for a moment – although that moment doesn’t last long. “Not signing me up for a ridiculous show about a bunch of random people marrying each other for shits and giggles!

“And besides that, you don’t get to just run my life-“

“Okay! Okay,” Louis breathes. “I’ll just- I’ll go in your place, then.”

Niall blinks, taken aback because, well- The fact that Louis is currently in a relationship might be a problem. But, also- What?

“I mean, I had to send the producers a picture of you, but I’m sure with the right excuse I can- I’ll think of something.”

Niall sighs, leans forward to press his face into his hands. “That’s not the point, Lou,” he mutters. “And forgive me, but I don’t think even the right excuse would make them believe you’re me. I’m way better looking.”

Louis rolls his eyes, placing his hands on his hips. “You’re an asshole.”

“At least I didn’t sign you up to marry a potential serial killer.”

“Touché,” Louis frowns. “Shut up.”

As if on cue, there’s a knock at the door before a woman with platinum blond hair pokes her head into the room, around the edge of the door. “You have five minutes,” is all she says, before her floating head disappears and she closes the door behind her.

“Well,” Niall says, pushing himself to his feet. He brushes his hands over his pants, more out of habitual nervousness than anything. He isn't ready. At all. “You brought me a tie and a jacket, yeah?”

Louis smirks. “Of course I brought you a tie and a jacket. What do you take me for, an idiot?”

Niall raises an eyebrow. “You really want me to answer that?”

X

He’s only vaguely aware of the camera trained directly on him. Of the camera down the hall, of the crew all around him telling him where to stand and where he’s meant to walk. It’s only vaguely, though, because his attention is more so trained on the fact that he feels like he’s either going to pass out or throw up.

And, honestly, he isn’t entirely sure which outcome he’d prefer – or even which one seems the most likely.

He’s about to walk down the aisle, is the thing. In fact, according to the digital clock above the door that leads out to the courtyard where the ceremony will take place, he only has 29 – 28, 27 – seconds left. And suddenly he doesn’t want to do this.

Suddenly his mouth feels like it’s filled with cotton balls, and his palms are sweating, and his legs feel numb, like he’s forgotten how to move them – and he’s really, really positive that he’s going to pass out. And vomit. At the same time, probably.

He can’t do this. Why did he ever want to do this?

There’s someone on his arm, then, and when he turns his head to the side it’s to watch as his mother loops her arm around his. She’s walking him down the aisle, will be the one to give him away at the altar. She should be a comfort to him, a beacon of light of sorts – and usually she is but his nervousness, and his fear, has overridden any hope of calming down.

“Hi, love,” Anne murmurs softly.

“Hi,” he whispers back.

“Are you ready?”

“No,” he breathes.

She laughs softly, smiles gently, pressing a soft kiss against his cheek. “Everything will work out just fine. You’ll see.”

X

Niall’s first thought is that he really, really doesn’t know how he’s going to fair with cameras following him around every day for the next two months. He doesn’t know how he feels about having a camera crew watching his every move, doesn’t know how he’s supposed to begin to wrap his head around the fact that this stranger – his husband – along with several other strangers are going to be, more or less, moving into his flat in the next week. (Screw Louis and his blindsiding Niall with the knowledge that he’s getting married today.)

His second thought, as the doors open and he awaits the “first sight” part of the whole  _ Married at First Sight  _ thing, is that he’s going to throw up. The butterflies in his stomach come to life, his palms are suddenly drenched with a nervous sweat, he can feel the temperature in his body rising by the second – and he’s either going to pass out or vomit, honestly. Because he isn’t ready. He isn’t fucking ready for this. (He’s going to kill Louis. And he’s going to really, really dislike Eleanor for letting him do this. And he’s definitely going to sabotage all of the instruments in the room the next time he goes into work – because John and Jake showing up at Louis’ beck and call for this is almost as bad as them having something to do with it in the first place.)

His third thought, though- That’s the one that takes him by surprise. Because his third thought is that the man that walks through the door looks like a model, and Niall feels positively  _ floored _ . The man is all long legs and wide shoulders, dark hair, green eyes, and a tanned – albeit a little bit fake-looking – complexion. There’s a dimple in his cheek when he turns his head to smile at the woman on his arm; his mother, if the fact that he’s more or less a spitting image of her is anything to go by.

The man is handsome. He’s really kind of beautiful, honestly. Niall can’t look away, can’t bring himself to look at anyone else – not even at Louis, who’s sitting next to Eleanor. This lad commands the attention of everyone in the room, and the worst part is that he doesn’t even seem to realize it.

His breath catches in his throat, and he swears his heart skips a beat when their eyes lock – and Niall has a fleeting thought that it’s oh-so cliché, this whole thing, right down to how they stare at each other from across the room, before he has one final conscious thought:

If he has to be stuck with a complete stranger for the next two months, then he’s incredibly glad that the stranger looks like a god among men – especially in his perfectly tailored black suit.

X

“Hi, ‘m Harry,” is the first thing he says after he’s stepped up onto the platform at the altar. Everyone laughs, including his future husband –  _ and _ the officiate standing next to them.

“Niall,” the other bloke says, sticking one hand out in front of him.

Harry smiles as he reaches for it, and his stomach feels as though it does a little somersault. A shiver runs up and down his spine when their hands touch.

“Well, now that the most important introductions have more or less been made, let’s move on, yeah? My name is Jon, and I will be making this union today official,” says the officiate.

Everyone laughs, and Harry’s heart sort of stutters nervously in its place. He can’t take his eyes off of Niall, though he honestly isn’t sure that he wants to. It’s a lot of pressure, standing up here with so much of his family – and so little of Niall’s, he'd noticed vaguely – watching their every move; which is probably why Niall hasn’t looked away from him either. Plus- Niall’s pretty fit.

“Now, Niall Horan, meet Harry Styles. Since this is the first time you’ve met, Harry’s friends and family wanted you to know a few things about him before you say ‘I do’,” Jon says. “First, is his smile. It’s bright, and it can be little mischievous at times but more importantly, it’s warm and it’s kind. It follows his heart, which is also warm and kind and loving. And in addition to that, they’ve wanted to warn you about a couple of things in no particular order. His mum, Anne, wants to warn you that he has a little bit of an obsession with romantic comedies and that when he cries at the end – because he will cry – it’s usually in the form of a few ugly sobs followed by a cuddle.” The room hums and ‘aw’s and smiles. Harry feels his cheeks redden. “His father, Des, has added that he’s incredibly clumsy; he says that Harry once threw his back out whilst singing in the shower.” The room laughs; Niall laughs, his gaze never wavering. “And speaking of singing in the shower, his sister, Gemma, would like to inform you that while Harry has a wonderful singing voice, he can get quite annoying with it. She says that if you ever feel like you need ear plugs, then you shouldn’t hesitate to ask her for some because she has plenty left over.”

Harry rolls his eyes and shakes his head, but the smile plastered to his face gives him away, as usual. And Niall hasn’t taken a run for it yet, so…

“Harry Styles, meet Niall Horan. His family couldn’t make it today, but a few of his friends are here and, well, they’ve got a bit of a list for us – so let’s get started,” Jon says, smiling. Niall sighs loudly, which causes the room to erupt with laughter. “Like with your singing, Jake would like to tell you that Niall really, really loves to play guitar – to the point where it can get quite annoying at times, mostly because he always ends up hogging whatever guitar is in the room. He says he’s really good and can sing really well too, though, so it’s not all bad.” Everyone laughs.  “John wants you to know that he’s really, really loud. At everything. Especially laughing. He says that his laugh is contagious, though, so you’ll probably never be able to stay mad at him for very long. And Louis- He has the longest list,” Jon says, and then pauses to embellish clearing his throat.

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry sees one of Niall’s friends – probably Louis – smirk and lean forward in his chair.

“Here we go,” Niall breathes, eliciting even more laughter.

“Louis thinks that you should know the following,” the justice of the peace continues. “First, Niall is weirdly obsessed with golf and thinks that he’s actually a 75 year-old man in a 25 year-old’s body. Second, Niall has one really bad knee and one mildly bad knee, so…good luck with that.” All the men in the courtyard snicker, and Harry can feel the heat rising in his cheeks again – in the same way that he can see the colour rising in Niall’s. “And three, because Niall is Irish and third time’s the charm, Louis wants you to know that Niall is the single best friend that he’s ever had, and that, next to his mother, Niall is the greatest person he’s ever known. He says that Niall has the best heart, says that he would do anything for anyone at any time of the day. And lastly, he says that when Niall loves someone, he loves them fiercely and unwaveringly, almost to a fault so he requests that you be careful with him.”

The room erupts with a chorus of long, drawn-out ‘aws’ and Harry feels his chest tighten. For the first time since he entered the room, Niall looks away from him to look at Louis. He nods – and Harry sort of feels like he’s invading a silent conversation so he, too, looks away and seeks out his mother. His mother, who smiles warmly and dabs tears out of the corners of her eyes with a tissue. Then he looks at his sister, who smiles and winks at him.

“Well,” Jon breathes, “that was a rollercoaster. Shall we move on?”

The room laughs once more – a couple of Harry’s cousins holler and cheer, and not only does Harry find himself laughing too, but he hears Niall giggle. And it’s- Adorable. It’s sincere. It’s beautiful, really. Harry thinks he could get used to it.

“Harry Styles, do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

Harry smiles and nods, gazed locked in on Niall’s once more. “I do.”

“And Niall Horan, do you take this man to be your wedded husband?”

Niall nods, licks his lips. “Yes. Sorry- I do,” he says, somewhat stumbling over his words. The colour rises in his cheeks again. 

Jon goes on to talk about marriage, then. Marriage, and commitment, and love – and Harry doesn’t zone out entirely, but he does so enough that everything except his own thoughts becomes background noises. His own thoughts are flooded with  _ Niall _ .

Niall, whose eyes are so blue that Harry thinks he could drown in them. Niall, whose cheeks are so red that Harry wonders if they would burn the tips of his fingers if he just reached out to touch them. Niall, whose lips look pink and soft and pretty and kissable. Niall, who looks so nervous that it looks as though he’s going to vomit – and yet, who still looks so pretty standing there.

Next, come the rings. And Harry swears, silently, that yet another shiver runs from where their hands meet throughout his entire body.

Then, comes the kiss.

Not a single muscle in Niall’s body seems to move, but his Adam’s apple bobs and his gaze flickers down to Harry’s lips – and, honestly, Harry can’t wait another minute. He leans forward rather quickly – faster than he’d have liked to, closes the gap between them eagerly, and kisses him softly. Niall doesn’t react, at first, so it’s mostly just lips touching – until he does. He moves his lips, and he leans in ever-so-slightly, and Harry isn’t sure if it’s him that sighs or if it’s Niall, but it doesn’t matter either way so he doesn’t dwell on it.

It’s short, and it’s sweet, and then that’s it. The kiss is over, and everyone is clapping as they pull apart – and it’s official.

They’re married.

Harry is a married man.

X

“Hey,” Niall hears from behind where he’s standing by the window, looking out across the courtyard from the inside. He recognizes the voice, despite having only heard it for the first time mere hours ago.

He turns his head around anyway, to see Harry walking towards him with on hand pushed into the pocket of his trousers. Harry, like Niall, has since lost his suit jacket which means that his obnoxious blouse is on full display, even if the bow has since come undone too. “Hey.”

“You know, usually people go outside to get fresh air when things start to get to be too much,” Harry hums. There’s a small trace of a slur in his voice – but it’s less the slur, and more the glaze over his green eyes that give away the fact that he hasn’t been holding back on the cocktails. “But I guess when the party is outside, the only other place to go is inside.”

“Yeah,” Niall breathes. “It’s just- A lot, you know?”

“Believe me- I know,” Harry says, his voice soft and understanding.

Niall watches him out of the corner of his eye; watches him settle into place by the window next to him, leaning a shoulder on the frame surrounding the glass. Harry looks good in a suit, but he looks even better without the jacket. It’s like his shoulders look broader, his arms look thicker, his hips-

Somewhere, a grandfather clock chimes, cutting sharply into his thoughts.

“Well then- We’ve officially been married for three whole hours.”

“‘s crazy, innit?” Niall asks. “Like- It’s literally insane to think we just got married after not even five minutes of knowing each other.”

Harry giggles. “I know. I think it’ll be fun though. It’ll be good.”

Niall arches an eyebrow. “Good?” It must be the alcohol talking. There's no way this is how Harry felt before the alcohol made an appearance.

“Yeah,” Harry nods, looking sideways at him. “Good. I have high hopes. I mean, look at you- Why wouldn’t I have high hopes?”

Niall blushes, tears his gaze away from Harry’s to look outside again.

“But also, even if it doesn’t work out, at least we’ll have done a bit of travelling for free, right? Dunno about you, but I’ve always wanted to go to Italy — and I’ve got a good feeling about this honeymoon of ours. Plus, even if it doesn’t work out, I hope that we still like each other enough to be friends after this, you know? And if so, then whatever is about to happen will be worth it somehow, in the end.”

“You’re awfully optimistic,” Niall notes.

“I get that from my mother," Harry smirks. He lifts his glass up, gestures silently for Niall to do the same — which he does. Harry’s cocktail to Niall’s pint. “To new adventures, new experiences, new friends-“ He knocks his shoulder against Niall’s. “And maybe even to falling in love, yeah?”

Niall’s heart feels like it jumps up into his throat. “Yeah,” he whispers, swallowing hard as he clinks his glass against Harry’s. He’s terrified. He’s so fucking scared about what happens after this, especially considering he still isn't even sure he wants to do this. But, well, honestly- Niall could definitely do worse than potentially falling in love with this incredibly fit, goofy, enthusiastic lad standing next to him – and that’s the thing he focuses on.

X

“So that’s it,” Niall says, once they’ve found themselves back where they started: in the kitchen. 

They’re back at Niall’s flat — away from the ceremony and the cameras. Away from Harry’s family, away from Louis. They’re alone. Harry’s two suitcases are still in the front hall, and Niall has just finished giving Harry a tour of the place. 

“It’s not much,” Niall continues, offering Harry a glass of water. It’s not small by any means, but it isn’t massive either. It’s the perfect kind of bachelor pad — which feels sort of ironic, at the moment, since he won’t be much of a bachelor for the next couple of months. “But it’s home.”

“I like it,” Harry tells him, looking at him over the rim of his glass as he pauses to take a sip. “It does feel very homey. And it’s impeccably clean.”

“That’s called 'having-a-mild-case-of-OCD',” Niall chuckles. 

“Oh?”

Niall shrugs. “It’s nothing major. Just, y’know, small things.”

Harry tilts his head to the side curiously as he leans forward to fold his arms over the island counter top between them. “Like what? I mean- If you don’t mind me asking. If you do, then-”

“Like- Cleanliness,” Niall replies. “Organization — as in, everything has a place at the end of the day, you know? And, um, I dunno- I have to fold my laundry a certain way. There are things I have to do in a certain order. It’s not nearly as bad as how a lot of other people have it, but I was diagnosed with it when I was 16.”

Harry hums. 

“Sorry if that freaks you out, or something. I-“

“What? No- No, it doesn’t,” Harry says, sounding reassuring. “Why would it freak me out?”

Niall shrugs. “Sometimes people just don’t get it, you know? They think it’s weird, or-“

“It’s not weird,” Harry tells him. “Anyone who thinks it’s weird, or treats you differently because of it is probably just a bit of an asshole.”

Niall blinks, taken aback. How is this stranger more understanding about this Thing about him than some of his former friends had been? Why? 

“Anyway,” Harry says, and his tone says that he’s about to change the subject. “I have to use the loo, I’ll be right back.”

“Wait- I’ll bring your suitcases into the bedroom and start clearing out some drawers for you.” He’d told Harry that he just hadn’t had time to clear out some space for Harry’s things, rather than admit that he hadn’t known he was getting married until this morning. It seemed like the easiest excuse.

“You don’t have to do that tonight,” Harry says. “I mean- We’re leaving tomorrow for the honeymoon anyway, yeah?”

“Right,” Niall says. “Yeah. Well, I’ll still bring your suitcases into the bedroom.”

“I can- I don’t mind sleeping on the couch tonight, if you want.”

Niall’s brow furrows in confusion. “What?”

“Just, I dunno- I know we just got married but blindly saying ‘I do’ is a bit different from, like, sharing a bed, you know? So I can sleep on the couch, if that-“

“No- No, if anyone is sleeping on the couch, it’s gonna be me. You’d get the bed, mate.”

“A-Are you sure?” Harry asks, cocking his head. 

“Yeah,” Niall nods. “Yeah, absolutely.”

“Then you can also sleep in the bed. I mean- If you want. You don’t have to. But I wouldn’t mind if you did — want to, that is.”

Niall shrugs. “I’m not above sharing a bed with a stranger,” he says — and then immediately regrets it. His eyes widen, and his stomach sort of turns over at the thought that that’s probably exactly the last thing he should have said. “Shit,” he mutters. “Sorry. I didn’t mean- That came out wrong. I just-“

“It’s okay,” Harry laughs. “If we’re being honest, then neither am I. I’ll meet you in there.”

“Okay,” Niall breathes. He watches Harry disappear down the hallway, can’t help but let his gaze land on Harry’s arse as he walks — and only when he’s out of sight does Niall let out a long, drawn out sigh. 

There was a double meaning in Harry’s response, and Niall knows it. It makes his cheeks burn a little. 

When he catches his breath, he moves forward to shut off the light in the kitchen before grabbing the handles to both of Harry’s suitcases. He hears the toilet flush when he walks into his room; sets both cases on the floor next to his dresser before he walks across the room to turn on the lamp on his bedside table. 

“I have a serious question,” Harry says as he enters the bedroom. “It could make or break this marriage. What side of the bed do you sleep on?”

Niall smirks, raises an eyebrow. “The left.”

“Good. I don’t have to divorce you. At least not yet.”

Niall laughs. “I hope you don’t mind that I sleep in just me pants.”

Harry shrugs. “I sleep in the nude, so- I’m kidding, I'm kidding. Well, sort of. I do sleep in the nude, usually, but I won’t. I’ll settle for pants too.”

Niall swallows hard around the lump in his throat, watches silently as Harry strips down to just his pants. He’s all biceps and abs and tiny little love handles and long, toned legs and tattoos, so many tattoos — and it’s more work than he’s willing to admit to to tear his gaze away so that Harry won’t catch him staring or salivating. 

If this show was about falling in lust with someone, then Niall would be a goner right about now. They hit the nail on the head as far as his “type” goes. (Niall sort of wonders exactly what Louis wrote in the description box.)


	2. The Honeymoon Stage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Can I kiss you?”
> 
> Niall blinks, taken aback. His mouth runs dry, and his mind goes blank. His own gaze flickers down towards Harry’s lips, and it’s not like he hasn’t thought about it over the last few days, but- “What?”
> 
> Harry licks his lips, leans forward slightly to rest his elbows on his knees. “It’s just- I’m feeling really good right now, and you look like you’re feeling really good, and we’re married right now and we haven’t kissed or anything since the wedding and it’s been, like, ages since I’ve really snogged someone and I’d really, really like to, and I’d really like that person to be you – if it’s okay with you,” he rambles, all in on seemingly long breath. “It’s okay if it’s not, though, that’s fine too. I’ll just-“
> 
> “Harry,” the blue-eyed man murmurs, leaning in ever so slightly. He’s feeling bold, feeling adventurous. Feeling like this could be a good thing so- Why not? “Shut up and make out with me.”

[The Honeymoon Stage]

.

.  
  
Hotel California, coming through the speaker on his phone, jolts him awake. He sighs as he rolls over to make it stop, groans when he notices the time  - 6:25. He flops onto his back, rubs the heels of his hands against his eyes as he tries to catch his bearings, tries to remember why he’s waking up way too fucking early on a Saturday morning.  
  
And then he hears it: the toilet flush (of all things). And, as if on cue, he becomes all too aware of the cold band around his ring finger, and the warmth on the other side of the bed – and the feeling in the air that tells him that everything is different now. And he remembers-  
  
He remembers Louis kidnapping him from the studio and stuffing him into the back of Eleanor’s car. He remembers getting married to a complete stranger, a mere hour after reaching their destination in downtown London. Remembers bringing that stranger home in a way he’s never done before, never thought he’d have to.  
  
And now he’s meant to be going on a honeymoon. With his brand new husband. To Italy. And their flight leaves in about 3 hours.  
  
When Harry doesn’t return from the toilet, Niall pushes himself up. Dresses himself slowly because it’s too damn early for this. Why did he agree to this? (Oh, wait.)  
  
He finds Harry in the kitchen – finds him standing in front of the counter, back towards the doorway, so he can’t see Niall watching him. Can’t see the way Niall’s gaze glides across every muscle in Harry’s bare back, which is a relief. He watches Harry silently; watches hum move around the kitchen drawers like a clumsy, confused baby deer. It’s kind of adorable, the way he opens exactly four drawers before he finds the cutlery drawer and pulls out two spoons.  
  
It’s when the coffee machine beeps, signaling a finished pot, and Harry moves away to search through the cupboards above his head, that Niall steps forward to make his presence known. “The mugs are in the cupboard next to the fridge,” he says.  
  
Harry tosses a smirk over his shoulder as he holds the door to the one right next to it open. “That was my next guess. Good morning.”  
  
“Morning,” Niall replies, eyeing the two bowls on the counter as Harry takes two mugs out of the cupboard.  
  
“I hope you don’t mind that I went ahead and got breakfast ready,” Harry says. “I’m a bit of an early bird. Usually go for a run at around 6, but since today isn’t just a normal day, I figured I’d just get ready early.  
  
“Was gonna make eggs, but then I realized that I don’t even know how you like your eggs. Then I saw the box of cereal in the cupboard, and I noticed that your coffee tin was emptier than your tea tin, so- I figured I’d make myself useful while you slept in.”  
  
“You talk a lot first thing in the morning,” Niall blurts. And he feels bad, for a second, before he sees the hint of a rather shy smile tug at Harry’s lips.  
  
“Yeah, sorry,” Harry laughs.  
  
“Don’t be, it’s fine. And- Thank you for all this. You didn’t have to.”  
  
Harry shrugs, a tint of pink splashed across his cheeks. “I wanted to. How do you take your coffee?”  
  
“With two sugars,” Niall says.  
  
“I take mine black,” Harry says, plopping two sugar cubes into one mug, before pouring coffee from the pot into both. “For future reference.”  
  
“You’re brave, assuming I’ll be awake earlier than you on any given day.”  
  
The other lad shrugs. “I’m not picky when I have my coffee.”  
  
Niall smiles as he pours cereal into each bowl. “I like my eggs over-easy. For future reference.”  
  
Harry smirks with a nod of his head. “Duly noted.”  
  
They swap items, then. Niall’s mug for Harry’s bowl. And then, silently, they both settle onto a stool at the island, side-by-side. Harry scrolls through a couple of news sites on his phone whilst Niall scrolls through his many social media platforms. It’s quiet. It’s calming. Something about it feels…comforting, almost. Natural. Which is strange, Niall thinks, because they’re still very much strangers.  
  
It’s nice, though. It’s been a minute since Niall had company for breakfast – that wasn’t just a bunch of awkward silence whilst going through the drive-thru at McDonalds on his way to work. Niall has no complaints.  
  
X  
  
The nerves kick in the second he takes his seat closest to the window. He’s fidgety, tapping his fingers on the arm of the seat, bouncing his leg up and down on the spot, chewing at the inside of his cheek. He hates flying. Not only are the lines always way too long, and the waiting around for two hours incredibly annoying – but even the biggest planes feel way too small.  
  
“You okay?” Harry asks, brows knitted together in what Niall identifies as concern when he turns his head to look at him.  
  
“Yeah,” Niall mutters, swallowing hard around the lump in his throat. “Yeah, I just- The beginning of flights always make me anxious.”  
  
Harry blinks as he closes the overhead compartment above them, and then he takes his own seat next to Niall. “Is it the OCD?”  
  
“Nah. This one’s claustrophobia.”  
  
“Oh,” Harry murmurs. “That’s- That sucks.”  
  
Niall shrugs. “You second-guessing this whole marriage thing yet?”  
  
Harry shakes his head, looking confused. “Not at all. Niall- There’s nothing wrong with you. Like- If you were a psychopath, then I would definitely be second-guessing staying married to you, but- Some OCD and claustrophobia doesn’t make you crazy.”  
  
Niall nods, follows it up by silence. He’s always been a little bit embarrassed by these Things about him, these Things that make him different. Though he’s never really understood why. Harry makes it less embarrassing, though. At least- He has so far. And Niall reckons that that’s mostly due to the fact that Harry somehow understands.  
  
“If it makes you feel any better, I’m not the best with heights.”  
  
Niall raises a curious eyebrow. “Really?”  
  
Harry nods, folds his hands together in his lap. “Take off is the hardest because, like- You can feel yourself getting higher, you know? You know you’re not on the ground anymore, and you know that there are hundreds of thousands of miles between the bottom of the plane and the actual earth that makes up Planet Earth. Being in the air is alright though – as long as I don’t sit next to the window.”  
  
Niall smirks. “Well- I like sitting next to the window because it makes the whole claustrophobia thing better, eventually.”  
  
“That’s perfect, then, yeah?” Harry asks, although his tone is rhetoric. Or, at least that’s what Niall thinks it sounds like. “Do you think they knew that when they paired us up? Like- ‘He likes the window seat, and he doesn’t like the window seat. Perfect.’.”  
  
“Maybe that’s why my previous relationship didn’t work out,” Niall laughs. He can already feel his anxiousness disintegrate. “She always hated sitting in the aisle.”  
  
Harry laughs. It’s big and loud and obnoxious, and for a moment, during which he covers his mouth with both hands, he feels like an asshole for laughing – and also for being so loud about it that a few people sitting around them turn their heads. But then Niall smiles, and he smirks as one eyebrow raises, and Harry takes that as a sign that it’s okay to laugh, that Niall isn’t mad.  
  
“You know that planes aren’t actually hundreds of thousands of miles up, right?” Niall asks suddenly, the space nerd in his running rampant. “It’s more like 30-40 thousand feet.”  
  
“Oh, I- I know,” Harry says, as his cheeks start to turn pink. “I -“  
  
“Sorry, I’m just- I’m a bit of a space geek. You’d be right if you were talking about the moon, though. Sort of.”  
  
Harry smirks. “You an aspiring astronaut or something?”  
  
“Nah,” Niall says, shaking his head. “I mean, I’d love to see what Earth looks like from the space station for real, but the claustrophobia thing would get in the way.”  
  
“You think?”  
  
Niall nods. “I’ve been to Kennedy Space Center. Those shuttles look massive from the outside, but they aren’t nearly as big as you think they are on the inside.”  
  
“For a moment there, I thought you were gonna say that you’ve been to space.”  
  
“Nah. Although- I sort of can say that I’ve seen Earth from the satellite in person.”  
  
“Oh?” Harry asks, curious eyebrows raised.  
  
“I have a mate who’s an astronaut and he skyped me on his last mission,” Niall explains. “It’s about as close as I’ll ever get.”  
  
Harry smiles. “That’s awesome, though. I can’t believe you have an astronaut friend. The coolest friend I have is a radio DJ.”  
  
It’s only a matter of minutes before the pilot’s voice comes through the intercom, which is immediately followed by his flight attendants asking everyone to secure their seatbelts for take-off.  
  
Niall’s stomach turns because the plane suddenly feels even smaller than it had before. It feels like there’s less air in the cabin than there was before. Talking to Harry had calmed him down, if only for a few minutes – but the anxiousness comes back all at once in the form of his tapping fingers and bouncing leg all over again. He’s seriously contemplating getting off the plane, despite the contract he’s bound to – despite the fact that Harry is sitting right next to him, excited about going to Italy and probably just as nervous and anxious as he is, but then-  
  
Then Harry’s hand his there. Harry’s hand covers his, and Niall’s gaze snaps towards where they’re both settled on the arm rest between them. He watches Harry’s fingers work their way over his palm, watches them settle between his own fingers. His breath catches in his throat when he looks up and his gaze collides Harry’s. Harry, who smiles sort of shyly, and raises an eyebrow as if to ask if it’s alright. And Niall nods, licks his lips as he looks away.  
  
It’s not a cure by any means, but it gives him something else to focus on. It gives him something to tether himself to.  
  
And, if the way Harry’s shoulders sort of deflate, as if all the tension has disappeared from them, is anything to go by, then- It’s a comfort for him as well.  
  
X  
  
They aren’t even in Rome, have barely gotten into their hotel room, for an hour when his phone rings. It’s his mother, and he finds himself thanking his lucky stars that Harry offered to go back down to the reception desk to get an extra keycard after all. He lets it ring a couple more times as he sits on the edge on the edge of the only bed in the room – as he collects himself for what could very well be the most awkward conversation of his life.  
  
He swipes his thumb across the screen on the fifth ring, and then brings the iPhone to his ear. “Hey, mum.”  
  
“Hello, my boy,” she greets him.  
  
Usually, hearing her voice settles him down when he’s been feeling anxious, but all it does now is create a little more anxiety. She has a tendency to pry is the thing. She can also read him, whether he’s miles away or not, like an open book. And given that he has something huge to hide right now, talking to her feels more than a bit unsettling.  
  
“I was just calling to let you know that I’ll be in London tomorrow for business, but I was thinking that you and I could have dinner together,” she says. “My treat.”  
  
Niall blinks, taken aback. “Oh, um- I can’t,” he says.  
  
“Oh?” she asks curiously, and he can visual the way she’s probably tilting her head. “Did you finally get yourself a date?”  
  
Niall just about chokes on his own saliva, before clearing his throat. “No,” he croaks. “I’m just- I’m in Italy at the moment.”  
  
“Italy?”  
  
“Yeah. It’s a long story,” he says. He hates hiding things from his mum. But he also cannot fathom telling his mother over the phone that he went and got married without telling her and is now on his honeymoon. The Catholic in her would kill him.  
  
“Oh, I see. When will you be back? And when were you going to tell your mother?”  
  
Niall snorts as he rolls his eyes. “Act first, ask for forgiveness later.”  
  
She hums, sounding unamused, but he can hear her smiling.  
  
“I’ll be back on Tuesday.”  
  
“And you’re still coming home next weekend?” she asks.  
  
“Yes, mam. Wouldn’t miss da’s 50th for the world.”  
  
“You’d better not,” she tells him. “And you’d better call your father and tell him you’re in Italy. He’s not going to be happy if he finds out from me first.”  
  
“Then don’t tell him,” Niall laughs.  
  
“That’s easier said than done, that.”  
  
Niall shakes his head. “How are the two of you divorced and remarried to other people, but you still gang up on me?”  
  
“We’re your parents, that’s how. Call your father.”  
  
“I will,” he sighs. Later. Preferably when he isn’t under the microscope of a filming crew.  
  
As if on cue, the door opens and Harry sort of stumbles through it, followed by even more cameras. “Hey, I- Oh, sorry,” he apologizes, upon realizing that Niall is on the phone.  
  
“I have to go, love you,” he says to his mother, and then promptly hangs up. He’ll apologize later, and she’ll forgive him easily. He just- Can’t chance that she won’t recognize Harry’s voice and ask too many questions. Not yet. He isn’t ready.  
  
“Who was that?” Harry asks curiously, holding out the extra keycard he’d obtained from the front desk for Niall to take.  
  
“Me mum,” Niall replies, pushing his phone back into the back pocket of his trousers. “Which reminds me- It’s my dad’s birthday next weekend and I have plans to fly up there for a visit next Saturday.”  
  
“Oh,” Harry hums. “I suppose that’s a perfect opportunity to meet your family, then.”  
  
Niall nods.  
  
“I mean- Unless that was you telling me that you’re taking off next weekend and not inviting me to go with you. Because I don’t have to go with you if you don’t want me to. I’ll just-“  
  
“No, you’re right,” Niall finds himself saying, cutting Harry off. “It’s a perfect opportunity.  
  
Harry smiles. “I’ve always wanted to go to Ireland. Looks like this whole marriage thing is working out pretty well for me.”  
  
Niall smirks.  
  
“It’s a date, then,” Harry says – and his smile is so wide that the dimple in his cheek comes out in full force.  
  
X  
  
Lunch goes by smoothly. They eat real, Italian pizza and drink wine on a patio surrounded by flowers and vines and people.  
  
They talk about what they each do for a living. Niall works in a music studio, plays guitar as part of the session band and helps mix the music. He’s even helped write a couple of songs for some big artists, but he isn’t allowed to talk about it because the songs haven’t been released yet. Harry is a photographer, who was recently fired from the studio he worked for for two years because he wouldn’t not take the opportunity to come on the show; he preferred taking a once in a lifetime chance on love to keeping a mediocre job he could have at any other mediocre studio, is the thing. Besides, it’s given him the push he’d been needing for the better part of a year to start thinking about working to an actual career, which is why he’s been looking to starting his own photography business.  
  
They also talk a lot about Harry’s family and a little bit about Niall’s, much to Niall’s discomfort, before asking for the bill — which is actually just paid for by the producers.  
  
After lunch, they become tourists by taking a three-hour tour of some of the city’s most beautiful hidden gems. Which is where they meet the other two couples taking part in the Married at First Sight experiment.

The tour is long, but Niall finds that he doesn’t mind it; finds that he stops looking at his watch an hour into the tour because the sights they’re seeing are far more interesting, far more worthy of his time. Rome is beautiful. Almost magical. Sort of mythical. He also can’t help but notice Harry and how Harry breathes it all in with wide, wondrous eyes and a smile that rivals the beauty of the city around them. At every new stop, Niall finds himself seeking out the look on Harry’s face, the glimmer in his eyes.

After the tour ends, all six of them decide to grab a bite to eat at one of the restaurants they’d been introduced to during the tour. The food is to die for, and the wine is served to them as if it were water. Wine is cheaper in Italy than water, is the thing.

After dinner, all six of them find their way back to the hotel pool, which is situated on the rooftop – equipped with a hot tub and a bar. They spend the night drinking and talking, and at one point Niall is just drunk enough to pretend like he’s giving an impromptu water aerobics class – and it’s fun. Everything about the first day is incredibly fun.

As is the second day, which they spend in Florence. They see a few sights, another few hidden gems, take part in a treasure hunt that tests their abilities to communicate and problem solve with their brand new significant others. Niall and Harry, to both of their utter surprises, win the treasure hunt which earns them both a few pats on the back and a comment about how obvious it is why they were put together. (Harry sees it too. Niall can almost see it.)

They spend the third day in Pisa. They sight-see, they eat delicious Italian food and drink tasty Italian wine. And, because Harry has always wanted one, he gets Niall to take a picture of him in front of the Leaning Tower in a way that makes it look like he’s holding the building in the palm of his hand. Another couple, completely unrelated to the experiment, offers to take a picture of the both of them and, well, who are either of them to resist – especially when there’s an old, 80 year-old woman gushing about how they’re newlyweds and that they should take as many pictures as they can.

Bologna is their last honeymoon destination. They spend the day walking around markets and shops. Harry buys a few sentimental souvenirs, some for his family – a snow globe for his mother, a collector, and a decorative wine glass for his sister, who is also a collector, and a couple of trinkets for his father and stepfather – and some for himself. Niall, meanwhile, settles for just a few basic items – an Italian football jersey for his father (which he’s going to double as a birthday present), a set of decorative bowls for his mother, and a keychain for his brother. They have lunch together, and they each genuinely seem to enjoy each other’s company as they travel around the city, taking in its beauty and its history and its culture. In the evening, they find themselves on the terrace in their hotel room – and they’re still enjoying each other’s company.

X

They’re a bottle of wine in, and Niall has just opened a second one. They have to be at the airport in 9 hours, but neither one of them can bring themselves to care, it seems; they’re in Italy and it’s the last night of their honeymoon and the wine is _free_.

Niall might have cared four days ago, might have been grumpy and testy about it, might have insisted that they be at the airport in 7 hours in hopes that they could catch an earlier flight, but right now – under a sky filled with stars and a big bright moon, wine glass in hand, sharing a loveseat with whom he decided just this afternoon is the most beautiful man he’s ever seen, without the company of a whole entire film crew – he really can’t think of where else he’d rather be, or anything else he’d rather do. They’ve had a good time this weekend, him and Harry. They’ve definitely had a better time than one of the other couples, one whom had had a full-on meltdown in front of all of the cameras that had been following them – both of them already on the brink of divorce. In fact, Niall almost doesn’t want to go back; doesn’t want to go back to London, or work, or reality.

“Do you think we could put in a request to just stay here?” Harry wonders, raising his now full glass to his lips to take a sip.

Niall smirks, holds his own glass out for Harry to cheers him – which Harry does, and they both follow it up with another sip. “It’s like you read my mind.”

Harry grins. “What do you think our chances are for success?”

“Incredibly slim,” Niall says, leaning back into the cushion on the seat. “I reckon it would defeat the whole purpose of the experiment.”

“Damn,” Harry sighs. “We’ll just have to come back, then.”

“Yeah,” Niall breathes. Because, right now, he’d like that. Out of the corner of his eye, he notices that Harry is staring at him, gaze flickering from his eyes to his lips and back again. Part of him wants to ignore it, wants to pretend like he hasn’t noticed, but a bigger part of him wants to know what he’s thinking because he’s learned several things about Harry over the last few days – like how his eyes crinkle at the outer corners when he laughs hard enough, and how he spins the ring around his left index finger around and around when he’s nervous, and how the space between his eyebrows crinkles when he’s deep in thought. “What?” he finds himself asking, voice soft.

“Can I kiss you?”

Niall blinks, taken aback. His mouth runs dry, and his mind goes blank. His own gaze flickers down towards Harry’s lips, and it’s not like he hasn’t thought about it over the last few days, but- “What?”

Harry licks his lips, leans forward slightly to rest his elbows on his knees. “It’s just- I’m feeling really good right now, and you look like you’re feeling really good, and we’re married right now and we haven’t kissed or anything since the wedding and it’s been, like, ages since I’ve really snogged someone and I’d really, really like to, and I’d really like that person to be you – if it’s okay with you,” he rambles, all in on seemingly long breath. “It’s okay if it’s not, though, that’s fine too. I’ll just-“

“Harry,” the blue-eyed man murmurs, leaning in ever so slightly. He’s feeling bold, feeling adventurous. Feeling like this could be a good thing so- Why not? “Shut up and make out with me.”

A smile tugs at the corners of Harry’s mouth. “Yeah?”

Niall nods, leans forward to grab Harry’s glass before placing both his and his own on the table in front of them. He barely has a minute to turn back around when Harry’s hand is there, cupping the side of Niall’s neck, and then- It’s all lips.

His lips, and Harry’s lips. Their lips crashing together. Niall’s breath sucked out of him. Harry’s other hand cupping the other side of Niall’s neck, pulling himself impossibly closer. Niall leans back and his hands find Harry’s hip as the taller, lankier lad crawls over him to straddle his thighs. He opens his mouth, licks into Harry’s mouth, and then suddenly all he knows is Harry. All he can taste is Harry’s mouth; all he can hear is Harry’s breathless little gasps; all he can see and smell and feel is HarryHarry _Harry_.

He hasn’t felt like this in a long time, even having gone through the last few months with his ‘nameless, sometimes faceless shags’.  This is different somehow. This is more intense, more fulfilling, more- It’s just more. And maybe he’s projecting, maybe he’s just being hopeful, or maybe he’s just really, really horny – but he thinks that Harry feels the same way, if the way Harry grind his hard-on against Niall’s is anything to go by.

Harry pulls away, breathless and panting, only to attach his lips on Niall’s collarbone as he leans his head back. “Can I-“ he cuts himself off by sucking gently on Niall’s skin for a moment. “I wanna get you off,” he slurs, and Niall can’t tell – nor does he care, really – if it’s because of him, or if it’s because of the alcohol.

“Wanna get us both off,” Niall pants, pushing a hand through Harry’s hair. He tugs gently, in part because he’s a little bit obsessed with the short curls in his locks, but mostly to get Harry to look at him. “Yeah?

Harry nods eagerly, whispering a breathless “yes” before staggering to his feet.

Niall isn’t sure if it’s the alcohol, or if it’s the atmosphere that Italy offers around them – or, hell, if it’s just Harry, but it doesn’t matter as he stands to follow Harry back through the terrace door, and it doesn’t matter as he forgets entirely about the open wine bottle and their two half full glasses on the table. And it doesn’t matter as he closes the glass door behind him.

Harry’s standing by the edge of the bed, already shirtless with his belt undone, by the time the door is closed. He sleeps in his pants, still, and they’ve gone for a swim a couple of times now, so seeing Harry shirtless isn’t anything new but the sight of him still manages to take Niall's breath away. Harry is gorgeous, is the thing. From his face, down his neck, across his shoulders, and down his whole torso; every dip, every curve, every line. It’s all beautiful. It’s nothing he hasn’t seen before, and yet he’s never seen it quite like this.

Niall peels his own shirt off over his head as he walks towards Harry, slowly but with purpose, as if he’s on a mission. And then he’s kissing Harry and Harry is kissing back, and it’s hard and it’s desperate. Harry moans, hands falling to Niall’s belt buckle to tug him closer – and Niall gets the message loud and clear. He steps forward so that Harry has to step back, and then they’re both sort of falling onto the bed and Harry is quick to scoot up towards the headboard, using the hand still wrapped around Niall’s belt to pull him along. He laughs, then – can’t help it, when Harry pushes him over so that he’s flat on his back, before crawling over him once more.

“Wanna suck you off,” Harry murmurs, pressing his lips to Niall’s jaw.

Niall smirks, pushes himself up on his elbows. “You’re gaggin’ for it, aren’t ya?”

Harry grins, green eyes locked with Niall’s, as he crawls backwards down Niall’s body. “’s been a while. Sue me.”

“I’d rather blow you, when you’re finished with me.”

Harry shrugs as he makes quick work of Niall’s belt, followed swiftly by the button on his jeans. “You might not need to.”

Niall raises a curious eyebrow.

“I _really_ like it,” is all Harry says, before he licks a stripe over the fabric covering the hard line of Niall’s cock.

Niall’s breath catches in his throat and his hips buck up, desperate for more contact, for better contact. He wants it so much. He needs it. He drops his head back between his shoulder blades and lifts his arse so that Harry can pull his pants down, and then-

Harry’s hand is there, fingers wrapped around the length of Niall’s dick. And Niall hisses as he strokes, slowly – once, twice three times, all the way up over the head, all the way down to the base. He’s so wet, and he’s so hard – and Harry strokes him a fourth time, and a fifth time, all the way up, all the way down. Niall’s back arches, and his hips buck, and then Harry’s mouth is there – and when Niall looks down, his gaze collides with Harry’s and he almost loses it, almost shoots his load. Harry is gorgeous, it’s true, and he looks even more gorgeous with his lips wrapped around Niall’s cock.

Harry sucks him down easily, effortlessly. It’s wet and it’s sloppy and it’s raunchy – and when Niall’s hips jump like they’ve got a mind of their own, forcing his dick a little bit further than Harry has already taken him, Harry moans. The vibrations Niall feels shoot straight to his core as he cards a hand through Harry’s hair.

Niall knows that he isn’t going to last very long. He’s too hot, too bothered, too sensitive and worked up and Harry- Harry is good. Harry is so good. And so eager to please. “Fuck,” he chokes, gasping on air. “Jesus fuck, Harry.”

Harry pushes himself further on Niall’s cock, sort of chokes on it before coming back up to suck on the tip. He pulls off entirely, then, presses Niall’s dick up towards his stomach. He makes eye contact with Niall again, eyes dark with lust, and then he licks a stripe from the base of him to the tip of him. His tongue rolls along the length of him, right over the vein — and Niall can feel him smile when he tosses his head back, feels him hum when he grips desperately at the sheets.

“Fucking shit,” Niall slurs. It takes everything in him not to come, takes everything he has not to let go.

Harry swallows him down again, all the way down until the tip of his nose is pressed gently against Niall’s stomach, before he starts to bob his head like he’s intentionally trying to milk Niall’s dick dry. And- Fuck if it’s not working.

“Fuck,” Niall sighs. “Harry, fuck- I’m gonna-“ He chokes on a breath, pushes a hand through Harry’s hair once more in a vain attempt to pull him off. “Haz, I’m gonna come.”

But Harry shakes his head, as if to tell Niall to stop trying to push him away. Niall watches him through lidded eyes, watches his dick disappear down Harry’s throat again and again — and, somehow, that’s how Niall notices that Harry has his own pants pushed down to his knees and that he’s jerking himself off at the same time that he’s trying to suck Niall’s soul out of his body through his dick- And that’s what does it.

Niall chokes on his own orgasm, gasps around the shout that rips its way out of his throat. He throws his head back and thrusts his hips up, one hand seeking out Harry’s hair as the other clutches at the sheets beneath him. He shivers and shakes, breathes hard and ragged as he comes — and comes and comes — down Harry’s throat.

Harry swallows and swallows and swallows, and then even when there’s nothing left, he continues to suck on the head of Niall’s cock — continues to get himself off.

“C’mere,” Niall murmurs, grappling weakly for Harry’s shoulders. He’s still coming down from one of the best orgasms of his life, and he doesn’t have very much energy left, but all he can think about now is making sure that Harry gets off properly too. Making sure he repays the favour. “Harry- Haz, come up here.”

Harry crawls, albeit a bit awkwardly, up the bed until his dick, long and hard and soaking wet, is right at Niall’s mouth. Niall coaxes him until he swings one leg over him to straddle his chest — and he gasps, his whole body twitches, when Niall grabs his hips to pull him forward, sucking his dick into his mouth. It takes all of a few seconds before Harry is moaning and grunting and shouting his release, curling in on himself as he comes over Niall’s tongue.

X

Niall thinks the aftermath is going to be awkward, thinks it’s going to be weird on account of the fact that they’re essentially still very much strangers that just hooked up as if it was a one-night stand, but neither of them have anywhere else to go so they’re sort of stuck here. Together. Alone.

Except that isn’t awkward. Not really.

During their post-orgasm haze, they lie about on top of the mattress, dicks soft and bodies worn. And perhaps it should be awkward when Harry launches into a story about his first time with a bloke and how awkward _that_ was, being that he just finished sucking Niall’s dick, but the furthest thought from Niall’s mind as he describes the scene is how uncomfortable it is because it isn’t uncomfortable at all. And when Harry finishes the story with a – “This was much, much better though. Like- Fantastic. I don’t even know why I told you that.” – Niall can’t stop himself from giggling and pushing his hand through Harry’s hair.

“I haven’t been with a bloke in, like- Over two years,” he finds himself admitting, then, in the comfortable silence that follows.

Harry rolls onto his stomach to look at him properly, props his head up on his fist. “Why not?”

“I was in a relationship with a girl for two years,” Niall says, shrugging his shoulder. “We broke up a few months ago.” Part of him wants to tell Harry about the last couple of months, about his rebounds and how they were all women – but he doesn’t want to risk hurting Harry’s feelings by making him feel like a rebound, doesn’t want to ruin the mood they’ve created around them because it feels really, really good.

“Well then- As your first male experience in two years, how’d I do?” Harry asks, grinning cheekily.

Niall smirks, cocks his head as he considers lying.

“That good, aye?”

“You were fantastic, ya narcissist,” Niall laughs, reaching a hand out to push Harry’s shoulder gently.

Harry shrugs, pushing himself up. “I suppose now is as good a time as any to tell you that I’ve got a bit of a praise kink.”

Niall chokes on his own saliva, eyes wide, as he watches Harry crawl off the bed.

“Also,” Harry starts, pushing his jeans down his legs. “Is now a good time for me to start sleeping naked?”

Niall barely as a minute to catch his breath let alone to respond, before Harry starts walking towards the terrace door. “Wha- Where are you going?”

“To get the wine. I know it’s free, but we shouldn’t let it go to waste. Besides- I have another round  in me. You?”

They have to get a plane in 7 hours, and earlier in the evening Niall had been planning on getting to sleep at a decent time, but it seems that Harry might have other plans for him and, well- He can’t bring himself to mind. He’ll just have to sleep on the plane, is all.


	3. Meet the Parents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Was she upset?” Harry asks curiously.
> 
> “No,” Niall sighs. “She was just- Being a mum, I guess.”
> 
> Harry smirks, though it’s gentle. “Mine was quite the mum when I told her too, had a little bit of a strop about it.”
> 
> “How’d your dad react?”
> 
> “My dad looked at me like I had three heads and then promptly told me that he expected nothing less. My step-dad compared it to going on a blind date, just- One that lasted a little longer than usual.”
> 
> “I reckon mine might have a stroke.”
> 
> “I mean, yeah,” Harry laughs. “If you’re gonna break it to him over text. And then turn your phone off.”
> 
> Niall shrugs. “His girlfriend is a nurse. She’ll recognize the signs.”

[Meet the Parents]

.

.

  
  
Several things happen in the five days after they return to London.  
  
Niall empties all three drawers on one side of his dresser, and Harry unpacks all of the belongings he’d brought with him. Niall even lets Harry have some space in his closet for his more delicate articles of clothing. They develop a morning routine, in which Harry gets up early to go for a run and makes coffee/breakfast when he gets back, which they both eat before going to work. They also develop a bit of a bedtime routine as well, in which they both manage to cram themselves in the toilet to brush their teeth. They have their first fight on day three because Harry has a habit of leaving his wet towels on the floor after his shower and Niall hates the smell of moldy towels.  
  
Oh- And they sort of become lovers. Lovers, in that: they haven’t really been able to keep their hands off each other ever since exchanging blowjobs in Italy. Only sort of, in that: not only have they not made a homerun out of their sex-capades, but they haven’t talked about it at all. They haven’t really talked about much of anything, honestly.  
  
They’ve also had a check-in with their relationship specialist – aka: a couple’s therapist. Harry had had his meeting with her, Julie, earlier this afternoon.  
  
“So the physical attraction is there, is what you’re telling me,” she’d concluded, smiling warmly. She seems happy for them, and maybe a little bit proud of herself for having matched them together.  
  
Harry smiled with a little nod of his head. “Yes. Absolutely.”  
  
“What about mentally?” she asked, leaning forward to rest her arms on top of her desk. “Emotionally.”  
  
“I mean- I don’t know what that means.”  
  
“Well, do the two of you talk?”  
  
“Yeah,” Harry said, licking his lips. “Yeah, we talk.”  
  
“What do you talk about?”  
  
Harry had shrugged, and suddenly he was all too aware of the camera that is focused on him. “I dunno, we just- Talk.”  
  
She tilted her head, and clicked her pen. “Have you talked about anything deeply personal?”  
  
“What would you consider ‘deeply personal’?” he wondered.  
  
“Family matters,” she replied. “Past relationships. What each of you need in a significant other. Whether or not you want to have children someday.”  
  
“He mentioned a past relationship once, but- That’s it. I’ve told him things about a couple of mine.”  
  
She raised a questioning eyebrow. “So the two of you have never really talked about anything else?”  
  
Harry shook his head.  
  
“Why not?”  
  
“Because I get the feeling that he doesn’t want to and I don’t want to force him to talk about something that makes him uncomfortable.”  
  
“Alright,” she’d said softly, leaning back in her chair again. “That’s fair, but you do still have to try and open yourselves up with each other – especially if you both end up wanting your marriage to last long-term.”  
  
“Yeah,” Harry whispered.  
  
She looked thoughtful for a moment, then, and Harry had suddenly felt far more nervous than he had when he’d walked in. “You’re going to meet his parents for the first time this weekend, right?”  
  
“We leave tomorrow morning.”  
  
“And have you ever asked him why his family wasn’t there for the wedding?”  
  
“No,” he’d admitted, shifting in his chair awkwardly. He’d wondered, briefly, if this is how parents felt during parent-teacher interviews. “I’m sort of afraid to.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“I just-“ he cut himself off with a sigh, ran a hand through his hair. “I sort of get the feeling that he’s not entirely sure what he wants to get out of this and that he maybe didn’t tell his parents on purpose, you know?”  
  
She hummed. “Don’t you think, then, that it would be better to be prepared for that? And that in order to prepare yourself for their reactions, you should ask him?”  
  
“Yeah,” Harry nodded, licking his suddenly dry lips. “Yeah, I- I’ve been planning to, just- I’ve been putting it off.”  
  
She shook her head, then, despite the subtle smile on her face. “In other words, you’re both bad at communicating.”  
  
And, well, given the entirety of their whole conversation, Harry hadn’t been able to find a single flaw in her logic.  
  
“So- Your homework tonight is to ask him about his parents. And apart from having as much fun as you can in Mullingar this weekend, your homework over the next couple of days is to, first: pay close attention, and also: to try and open up to each other more. Get to know each other more. Get to know each other beyond the bedroom.”  
  
And now here he is, sitting on the other end of the couch away from Niall, half listening as Niall finalizes arrangements with Heathrow Airport over the phone whilst Harry fiddles around in photoshop to spruce up his portfolio for his online presence – and yet all Harry can think about is his homework. He tries to focus on what he’s supposed to be doing, but between Niall’s voice butting in and Harry’s thoughts wandering to what Julie had said in their session, he’s getting absolutely no work done. So, instead of trying, he closes his laptop and leans forward to place it on the corner of the coffee table. (The photos can wait until after they’ve returned from Ireland, anyway.)  
  
Less than a minute later, Niall is off the phone, sighing in relief as he leans back against the plush corner of the sofa. “Everything is sorted,” he says. “The mix-up was their mistake, not ours, so- It’s on them.”  
  
“And the flight is at the same time tomorrow?” Harry asks curiously.  
  
“Eight o’clock, yeah.”  
  
Harry looks at the time written in blue lights across the cable box. They have 12 hours until their flight takes off. Which means that in approximately 13 hours, Harry will be introducing himself to Niall’s parents as Niall’s husband for the first time. In 19 hours, he’ll be celebrating a birthday in an old-fashioned Irish way (according to Niall, which consists of bar-hopping down the main street in Mullingar), and getting to know Niall’s family up close and personal. And he’s terrified.  
  
And it’s that fear, oddly enough, that gives him the courage to finally ask Niall what he’s been wanting to ask since he walked through the door after work today- Since he walked down the aisle and noticed how empty Niall’s side of guests had been, honestly. He’s fidgeting with his ring, nervous as he looks at Niall tentatively. “Am I allowed to ask why your family wasn’t at the wedding?”  
  
Niall looks at him for a long, seemingly drawn-out moment. It’s like he’s considering his options, like he’s trying to figure out if he really should or not. “Only if you promise not to get mad,” is what he says, leaning forward to place his phone on the coffee table.  
  
Harry swallows hard around the lump in his throat. “I promise.”  
  
“They don’t know about you.”  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
Niall licks his lips. “I, uh- I didn’t sign up for this.”  
  
Harry blinks, confused. Taken aback. “What?”  
  
“Like-“ Niall pauses, sighs as he leans forward. He’s looking at Harry, smiling awkwardly. “I literally didn’t sign up for this. My best friend – although that’s now debatable – signed me up,” he starts to explain, and Harry feels his stomach turn. “He went through everything while pretending to be me, basically didn’t tell anyone about it and then he made up an excuse to get me to the wedding before he broke the news to me.”  
  
Harry hums, bites at the inside of his cheek. His stomach feels like it’s littered with butterflies, but not in a good way. It feels…sour. “So- You only married me because your name was on the contract, then, yeah?”  
  
Niall frowns, folds his hands together in his lap. “You promised you wouldn’t get mad.”  
  
“I’m not mad,” Harry says, shaking his head. And he isn’t. Mostly. “I’m just- It just explains why you’re…” He trails off, unsure of what it is exactly that he’s trying to say.  
  
Niall quirks an eyebrow. “Why I’m what?”  
  
Harry shrugs. “It just explains why I’m all in and you’re one foot in, one foot out.”  
  
“I’m- Harry,” he sighs, shifting across the couch, closer to where Harry is sitting. He reaches a hand out to take Harry’s, smiles softly. “I didn’t come into this with high hopes, I’ll admit that. And when Louis brought up the idea months ago, before he signed me up, I was completely against it – and I’ll admit that too. But then we went on the honeymoon and we had a lot of fun and I started to like the guy that I got to know there. I think you’re fun and you’re charming, and you seem like a great guy, and- And I do want to see where this goes, now, yeah?”  
  
“Yeah,” Harry whispers, and he can’t think of a single reason not believe him. They did have fun, and Niall does seem to like him- As a person, at least. And looking at Niall, now, it doesn’t feel like he’s lying. “Okay.”  
  
“If I didn’t want to, then I wouldn’t have let you come with me this weekend,” Niall tells him.  
  
Harry nods, looking down at where their fingers are intertwined. “You’ll tell them about me before I meet them though, right?”  
  
Niall nods. “Yeah, of course. I promised mum I’d call her in the morning before we leave, so I’ll tell her then.”  
  
A breath escapes Harry’s chest, and  it’s like the tension in his shoulders disappears at the same time. He feels better now. Still nervous, but better.  
  
Niall pulls his hand away from Harry’s, then, and Harry’s breath sort of hitches in his throat. He thinks, for a moment, that he’s just gone and made thing awkward between them – but then Niall’s hand is at the back of Harry’s neck, cupping his spine. He tilts his head, a sly grin tugging at his lips, as he lifts his other hand towards Harry’s chest, where he dips his index finger into the ‘V’ of Harry's button up shirt. “Reckon we have time for a quickie before it’s your turn to go change over the laundry.”  
  
Harry smirks, and Niall kisses him – and everything else is forgotten.  
  
X  
  
He’s walking back to the bedroom having just gone for a wee, when he hears Niall’s voice through the open door. Niall still sounds tired, despite having already been awake for an hour; his voice is a bit rough, his accent a bit thicker than it is during the day. Harry sort of likes when Niall’s accent is thicker, likes when it’s a bit rough around the edges. He’s about to walk in, regardless of the fact that Niall is obviously on the phone, when he realizes that Niall’s talking to his mum. And, instead, he finds himself leaning against the wall next to the door; he finds himself listening intently to every word that comes out of Niall’s stupidly beautiful mouth.  
  
“Yeah,” Niall says softly. “We have to be at Heathrow in about 45 minutes.”  
  
Silence falls, then, and Harry can only assume that it’s because Niall’s mother is talking.

“Yeah- We,” Niall murmurs. “Mum-“  
  
For a moment, Harry thinks that Niall’s voice is so soft and tentative because he’s afraid to tell her — but as Niall sighs, Harry realizes that it isn’t because he’s afraid, he’s just trying to find the right words.  
  
“Yes, mum. I’m bringing someone home.”  
  
More silence stretches on, shorter this time, but it still has Harry feeling on edge.  
  
“He’s my husband.”  
  
The silence that follows after that is choppy because Niall tries to get a word in, tries to get his mother’s attention, tries to explain the situation but his voice keeps cutting off — until finally-  
  
“Christ, mum, would you just- Would you let me explain? I haven’t lost my mind, I- It’s- Louis signed me up for Married at First Sight.”  
  
Harry finds himself holding his breath, for some reason.  
  
“A week, officially. I didn’t know, mum. He’d asked me about it months ago, I said no, and he did it anyway. Now we’ll be married for two months. Once we hit the eight week mark, we have to decide whether or not we want to stay together.”  
  
Harry hates how it sounds like Niall thinks that their marriage is an obligation. Especially when he sounded so sincere last night.  
  
“No, I- He’s a good guy. You’ll like him. You might even like him more than you like me, honestly.”  
  
More silence follows, and it twists Harry’s stomach into knots.  
  
“I like getting to know him right now. He’s fun, and he makes me laugh, and he’s charming. He’s been sort of perfect so far, honestly. Except- Except for the fact that he has a habit of leaving wet towels on the floor, which- I blame you for making me so anal about that one.”  
  
Harry smiles, bites at his bottom lip.  
  
“Yeah, we’re good. He’s excited to meet you guys. But he’s also nervous, so- Please don’t make a big deal about it, yeah? And tell Bobby not to go overboard.  
  
“Really? I don’t have time to call him to- You’re really gonna make me do it?  
  
“Yeah, mum, I realize that I’m the one who went and got married without telling anyone. But-“  
  
Harry’s stomach sort of flips over.  
  
“Fine. Alright. I’ll text him and then turn my phone off on the plane. See you soon.”  
  
Harry takes a deep breath, walks into the room shortly after Niall hangs up. It's like there's a little ball of tension sitting in the middle of his chest.  
  
Niall smiles a bit sheepishly as he runs a hand through his hair when he looks at  Harry. “How much of that did you hear?”  
  
“All of it. But technically only half of it.”  
  
Niall laughs softly, rubs at the back of his neck.  
  
“Was she upset?” Harry asks curiously.  
  
“No,” Niall sighs. “She was just- Being a mum, I guess.”  
  
Harry smirks, though it’s gentle. “Mine was quite the mum when I told her too, had a little bit of a strop about it.”  
  
“How’d your dad react?”  
  
“My dad looked at me like I had three heads and then promptly told me that he expected nothing less. My step-dad compared it to going on a blind date, just- One that lasted a little longer than usual.”  
  
“I reckon mine might have a stroke.”  
  
“I mean, yeah,” Harry laughs. “If you’re gonna break it to him over text. And then turn your phone off.”  
  
Niall shrugs. “His girlfriend is a nurse. She’ll recognize the signs.”  
  
  
X  
  
  
They landed in the Dublin Airport a little over an hour ago, taken a bus to the station in Mullingar and then a taxi to Niall’s mother’s house. And here they are, edging up the driveway, each with a sack thrown over their shoulder. The house looks relatively average from the outside, a far cry from how small Niall had made it seem. It’s all old, weathered stones and bricks, two stories high with what looks like brand new windows and a bright red door. It’s cute and it’s quaint, and Harry can most definitely see a younger Niall growing up here, in this quiet, humble little neighbourhood.  
  
“Are you nervous?” Niall asks, looking sideways at Harry as they walk up the driveway.  
  
Harry’s a few paces behind him, trying not to be nervous. “A little.”  
  
“You’re shitting bricks, aren’t you?”  
  
  
“A lot,” Harry gives in. “Yeah.”  
  
Niall frowns. “I’m sorry,” he says softly stopping halfway to the front door of the house, to turn around properly. He looks sheepish, almost guilty. “I didn’t- I didn’t even think about this aspect of it. I should’ve told them sooner, maybe Skyped them with you or something first, but-“  
  
“It’s not your fault,” Harry says. Not really, anyway.  
  
“It’s kind of my fault,” Niall argues gently. “It’s mostly Louis’, but also kind of mine-“  
  
“And also kind of mine,” Harry adds.  
  
Niall snorts, rolls his eyes. “How do you figure that?”  
  
Harry shrugs. “I could have asked you about it sooner. Maybe if I’d asked, then Skyping them would have been on the table instead of just-“  
  
“It’s hardly your fault, Haz,” Niall says, shaking his head. And there he goes with the nickname again. Niall has been doing that a lot lately, calling him Haz. Ever since moaning it a bit breathlessly in Italy - which Harry had concluded, in the aftermath, was a throws-of-passion sort of thing. The sound of it makes Harry’s heart skip a beat, however silly that might seem.  
  
“It doesn’t quite matter whose fault it is, now does it?” a voice asks, from up the driveway. Harry’s gaze snaps over Niall’s shoulder to where there’s a woman, short and petite with dyed blond highlights in her hair, wearing a pretty sundress, standing in the doorway. Her voice makes her sound bigger than she looks, if that’s even possible. “Now, if the two you would just come inside, already, then your father and I would love an introduction.”  
  
And then she’s gone, and Harry lets his gaze focus once more on Niall, who smiles sort of sheepishly. He doesn’t look nearly as surprised as Harry feels.  
  
“Well, you heard the woman,” Niall says, turning to continue up the driveway.  
  
Without even thinking, Harry reaches out to grab his arm. “Wait, I thought your parents were divorced and with other people.”  
  
“They are,” Niall says. “But they also like to have get-togethers, even when my brother or I aren’t around. The four of them have tea once a week — which sometimes lasts all day and then turns into pints at one of the bars we passed to get here.”  
  
“Wow. That’s impressive.”  
  
Niall shrugs. “Yeah, I guess. I mean- It’s nice, when they aren’t ganging up on me. Which they might do, so you have to be on my side, yeah?”  
  
“Yeah,” Harry says, nodding his head. “Of course.”  
  
The front hall is small. It takes a lot of maneuvering around and bumping into each other to get both of their bodies and each of their bags through the door and over to the bottom of the staircase a few feet away. They manage, though, before taking their shoes off.  
  
To the left of the staircase, is the living room. On the other side of the staircase, closest to the front door, is the bathroom. Further down the hall, is a semi-open concept dining room and kitchen.  
  
The house is small, but it’s warm and cozy in the way that a home feels. Harry makes a mental note to take a closer look at all of the photos littered across the walls later.  
  
They find Maura in the kitchen amidst two trays filled little sandwiches and a tray of vegetables with a dip at the center.  
  
“Mum,” Niall groans. “Please tell me you aren’t throwing some sort of party. You’ll scare him away.”  
  
Usually Harry would disagree with that; he loves parties, especially the kind that have food at the center of it. Except, well, he’s so riddled with nerves right now that he thinks that Niall might actually be right.  
  
“It’ll just be the six of us,” Maura says, handing what looks like a large placemat to her son. “Your brother, Denise, and Theo will be over for dinner though. Can you be a doll and put that on the coffee table?”  
  
“Mum, this is Harry,” Niall says, smiling even as he rolls his eyes just for Harry to see. “Harry, this is my mother. And I’m not even here for a minute and she’s putting me to work.”  
  
“You can blame yourself for that,” Maura says, walking around the small island separating the kitchen from the dining room, to stand in front of Harry. He’s so tall that she almost has to tilt her head all the way back. “Hi, Harry. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I was going to introduce myself once I got rid of my son for a minute.”  
  
“Oi,” Niall calls out from somewhere behind him. “That’s rude.”  
  
Harry smiles nonetheless. “I’m H- I’m happy to meet you too,” he says, and then promptly blushes. It’s embarrassing how much of his parent game he’s lost, all of a sudden.  
  
“Is my son treating you right?”  
  
A laugh Harry isn’t expecting escapes him. “So far, so good.”  
  
“Shouldn’t you be asking me that?” Niall wonders out loud. “She always does this.” His eyes widen, then. “Not that it’s happened a lot. I mean- It’s not like I’ve done this a lot, it’s just- It happened a few times. With one person. Where’s Bobby?”  
  
“He’s outside cutting firewood,” Maura replied. “And, Niall, sweetheart,” she pauses, reaches out to hold his face in her hands. “I’ve never asked you because I know you. And I know that you wouldn’t have brought him home if he weren’t. Like always.”  
  
“Right,” Niall says, clearing his throat. He looks uncomfortable, and for a moment Harry wonders which one of them is actually more nervous than the other. “Where’s Melanie? And Chris?”  
  
“They went to the store to get a few things for dinner. They should be back any minute, actually. They’re also very excited to meet you, Harry,” Maura says. “Now that we all know that you exist, we’re all looking forward to getting to know you.”  
  
“Thank you,” Harry nods, smiles softly. “As am I. Looking forward to getting to know all of you, that is.”  
  
“Well, well, well,” a voice drawls from the other end of the kitchen as an older gentleman with grey-ish hair, blue eyes like Niall’s, and pink cheeks walks in through the back door. “Would ya look at what the nice boy with the dimples dragged in.”  
  
Niall rolls eyes, even as the man whose name can only be Bobby Horan wraps an arm around his son’s shoulders. “‘s nice to you see you too, old man,” he mutters, intentionally sounding displeased despite the smile tugging at his lips that gives him away.  
  
Bobby smirks, presses a kiss to the top of Niall’s head, before reaching a hand out towards Harry. “Hey, lad. ‘m Bobby.”  
  
“Harry,” he says, shaking Bobby’s hand. “I heard that a ‘Happy Birthday’ is in order, so-“  
  
“That’s tomorrow,” both Niall and Bobby say at the same time.  
  
“Right,” Harry nods. “Yeah. That’s what I meant.”  
  
“Thanks, though, mate,” Bobby says with a wink. “I expect that you’re in for the pub crawl tomorrow, yeah?”  
  
“Yeah, for sure. Niall says that it can get pretty wild and wild happens to sort of be my specialty on a night out.”  
  
Bobby grins. “I like you already, then.”  
  
X  
  
The afternoon goes by rather quickly once Bobby’s girlfriend, Melanie, and Maura’s husband, Chris, arrive. They sit around the coffee table in the living room, munching on sandwiches and vegetables, and- Talking. There is a lot of talking.  
  
At first, Harry had been afraid that it would feel a bit like an interrogation. And, in the beginning, it sort of had with questions like: “Where did you grow up?” “What did you study in school?” “Why did you decide that you wanted to marry a stranger?” — But then Niall had cut in, requested that they stop interviewing him as if he’s a prospect for a job he didn’t even apply for, and the questions had stopped.  
  
The pressure in the room had dissipated fairly immediately after that. Instead, there had been chatter and jokes and laughter. There had been friendly bickering over football — because Harry and Chris are Manchester, and Bobby and Niall are Derby. There had been Harry and Maura bonding over their love of yoga and scented candles.  
  
He’s learned that Bobby is a butcher at Tesco, respected by just about everyone in town. That Maura is a local journalist, which explained her habit of asking so many questions. He’d learned that they’d had Niall’s brother right out of college, that they’d waited too long to have Niall — and yet, perhaps simultaneously not long enough, given that they’d separated (and then eventually divorced) when Niall was five years old. Things had been rough for the first few years whilst they all tried to navigate the ins and outs of having a broken family. But by Niall’s ninth birthday their broken family had begun to work better than their old one ever had; Bobby and Maura were able to be friends as well as co-parents and, thus, the co-parenting thing had become much easier for all of them.  
  
Harry had told everyone, then, that he’d had a similar childhood. His own parents had divorced when he was seven; he lived with his mum full-time and only ever saw his father every other weekend; holidays, at first, had been a first-come-first-serve sort of thing before his parents had realized that things would be a lot smoother if they’d just take turns. The only real difference between Niall’s parents and Harry’s is that Harry’s parents had never been able to be friends.  
  
“‘s not always all it’s cracked up to be, honestly,” Niall had muttered with a shrug of his shoulders. He’d looked sort of bored and uninterested, but even Harry could recognize the glimmer of playfulness in his eyes. “When they’re friends they tend to gang up on ya. It’s like they think it’s fun, or something.”  
  
And then all of a sudden the food trays were empty and a small child was running into the living room with his shoes still on and Maura realized that it was five o’clock and she had yet to put the roast in the oven. That’s when Harry had met Niall’s older brother, Greg, and his wife, Denise, and their four year-old son, Theo.  
  
  
  
  
“So,” Niall hums, catching him in the hallway as he walks out of the loo. “What do you think so far?”  
  
“I really like them,” Harry says, smiling as he leans back against the wall. “Eight hours ago they had no idea who I was, and now I’ve got a golf date with your dad tomorrow.”  
  
“Mhmm. I hope you know that I’ll forever be bitter that I didn’t get an invite.”  
  
“Can’t exactly talk about you if you’re standing right there, can we?” Harry teases cheekily.  
  
“Oi,” Niall mutters, reaching out to pinch at Harry’s arm, “what happened to being on my side?”  
  
Harry smirks, winks at him as he bats Niall’s hand away.  
  
“Oh- Theo wants you to sit next to him. He wants to show you his gravy boat.”  
  
Harry quirks an eyebrow. “His gravy boat?”  
  
“You’ll see,” Niall laughs.  
  
Theo is Niall’s four year-old nephew, but he looks every bit like Niall despite his blond hair. He’s tiny, and he’s talkative, and he’d taken an immediate liking to Harry, before he’d even known who Harry was.  
  
“Who are you, anyway?” the little boy had asked.  
  
Harry had laughed, then, looking at Niall. “I’m, um-“  
  
“He’s my husband,” Niall had said. He must have heard the hesitancy in Harry’s voice at explaining the situation to a four year-old.  
  
Theo’s eyes had widened almost comically. “You can do that?”  
  
“Do what?”  
  
Theo glances around as if making sure his parents were far enough away, before leaning in to whisper with a hand next to his mouth anyway. “Boys can marry other boys?”  
  
Harry had smiled; looked at Niall who was also smiling. “Boys can absolutely marry other boys.”  
  
“Can girls marry girls?”  
  
“Definitely.”  
  
“So- I can marry Connor?” Theo asked. There was a mixture of excitement and bewilderment splashed across his little face.  
  
Niall raised an eyebrow. “Who’s Connor?”  
  
“He’s a boy that was in my class. We hang out a lot.”  
  
“Well,” Harry hummed, smiling softly. “You can’t marry him now. You have to be at least 18-“  
  
“But probably 30,” Niall interjects.  
  
Theo had pouted, then. “That’s so far away.”  
  
“Exactly,” Niall has muttered.  
  
Theo had been entirely enthralled, then, in the reality of Niall and Harry being married. He’d been full of questions — from “do you live together?” to “do you sleep together?” (which had earned a snicker from Niall) to “when are you gonna have kids?”  
  
That’s when Niall had shut down question period — and probably not just because they haven’t yet spoken about what they want in the future as far as having a family goes. It’s a reminder, though, that that’s still a part of his homework for the week. It’ll just have to wait for when they get back to London.  
  
  
  
As it turns out, Theo’s gravy boat is quite literally a boat made out of mashed potatoes with gravy poured into the middle. And Harry is rather fascinated.  
  
X  
  
Harry’s on his way back through the house, having just used the toilet, to find Maura in the kitchen, struggling to get to new heights. She has her hands up above her head, trying to reach a shelf in one of the cupboards.  
  
“Do you need a hand?” Harry offers from the entryway.  
  
Maura breathes a sigh of relief. “Would you? I have a step ladder around here somewhere, but it seems one of the boys took it outside.”  
  
Harry smiles as he reaches up high to put the glass she’d been attempting to put back back up in the cupboard.  
  
“Theo likes to bring it around with him so he can climb things.”  
  
“I actually think I saw Bobby with it earlier.”  
  
Maura smirks, shakes her head fondly. “Yeah, well, he’s basically just a grown child, so I wouldn’t doubt it.”  
  
Harry bites his bottom lip as he steps back, away from the counter, to let Maura organize her things without him being in the way. “Can I just say that I really admire the fact that you’ve managed to stay so close to each other? My parents could barely be in the same room as each other for years, even years after their divorce. I wish they had tried harder to at least be civil for my sister and I.”  
  
“Sometimes people just don’t work, love,” Maura says, the softness of her voice matching the softness in her eyes as she turns to look at him. “And I don’t just mean as a couple, I mean in general. Sometimes they’re just that incompatible. Bobby and I- We didn’t work as a couple, but we’re compatible as friends. Always have been, honestly.”  
  
Harry nods.  
  
“Can I ask something that might be personal?”  
  
“Of course. Yeah.”  
  
“Why did you sign up for this?”  
  
Niall had cut in the last time a question like this had been asked to save Harry from having to answer to his parents, Harry reckons, but Maura looks genuinely curious, now. While she looks every bit a mother that is looking out for her son, Harry thinks she’s asking as a mother in general.  
  
Harry smiles softly, rests his hip against the edge of the counter where he stands. “Before I signed up I’d gone through a string of bad dates. Like- Truly awful. And before that, I’d had a few bad relationships, had a few dull relationships. When I’d first seen the ad I thought it was, y’know, bullshit. Who willingly gets married to a complete stranger, yeah? But then I kept thinking about it and I looked a little more into it and there was this whole thing about being paired with a partner that is as close to compatible with you as humanly possible — at least, from the pool of partners available. There’s a whole team of relationship experts and everything. And- I wanted to get out of the cycle of going from one boring relationship to one bad relationship and back again. I wanted to try the whole ‘being compatible’ with someone thing. And I figured that I’d have nothing to lose, really, even if it didn’t work out, so-  
  
“Here I am.”  
  
“And do you find that you and Niall are compatible?”  
  
“I do,” Harry nods, smiling softly. “It’s still quite early, but yeah- I can see why they paired us together.”  
  
Maura smiles back, reaches out to touch his arm and give his bicep a gentle squeeze. “For what it’s worth, based on the last several hours, I can too.”  
  
Harry’s pretty sure that the heat that rises in his face is not only visible on his cheeks, but palpable.  
  
“You play off of each other really well,” she explains. “And, not that I get to see him a lot, but I haven’t seen or heard him laugh or smile like this in a long time.  
  
“I know that he didn’t sign up for this, but I think it’s doing him some good already. Even if he doesn't quite realize it yet.”  
  
As if on cue, then, Niall walks in through the back door. He smiles when he sees them, his gaze landing on Harry. “There you are. Thought you got lost. Was gonna get together a search party, but Theo is asleep, the men are almost asleep and the girls are a little too tipsy.”  
  
“We were just gossiping,” Harry says, smirking.  
  
“Yeah? About what?”  
  
“Me, mostly.”  
  
Niall hums, and then looks away like he’s trying to hide the smile tugging at his lips.  
  
Maura hands Harry another dish, directs him to where she wants it, and then thanks him with a pat on his back.  
  
“Putting him to work already?” Niall asks, leaning against the counter a couple of feet away.  
  
“I like him,” she shrugs. “He’s tall.”  
  
Niall smirks. “Everyone’s tall compared to you, ma. Theo’s gonna be taller than you by the time he’s nine.”  
  
She glares at him. “I resent that.”  
  
“Short people usually do resent the short jokes.”  
  
“You know- You might be a 24 year old man, but you’re still my kid and you’re currently under my roof so I can still send you to your room.”  
  
“I mean, yeah, but- I’ll still be taller than you.”  
  
Her gaze hardens – but then her resolve breaks, and a smile splits across her face as she shakes her head. “Get to bed.”  
  
“Is that her way of sending me to my room?” Niall asks Harry.  
  
Harry giggles. “I am kind of tired. Unless you need help with other things, Maura, because-“  
  
“I appreciate it, darling, but I’ll just get Chris to take care of the rest. Will you two be okay up there, in one bed?”  
  
Niall rolls his eyes. “Ma.”  
  
Harry blushes, again, and a part of him thinks he might be permanently pink by the end of this trip.  
  
“Sorry,” Maura mutters, stifling a snort behind her glass of water. “Carry on. See you in the morning.”  
  
+  
  
“So- Serious question,” Niall murmurs, fluffing out the pillows at the head of the bed. The cameras are gone, now. And as is everyone else.  
  
It’s just the two of them. Alone. In Niall’s childhood bedroom, where Harry reckons that everything has stayed the same. There’s a desk by the window that looks out the front of the house, a dresser against the wall opposite the desk, and in the middle there’s a small twin-sized bed.  
  
“Hm?” Harry asks, as he looks around at all of Niall’s childhood things – his once-thought prize possessions. Posters plastered to the wall – from The Eagles, to Bruce Springsteen, to Fleetwood Mac, sports figurines and trading cards.  
  
“Is this okay, us sharing the bed?”  
  
“What, because it’s super small?”  
  
Niall snorts. “Because my mum and Chris are literally right down the hall, idiot,” he says, though his voice is fond.  
  
Harry raises an eyebrow. “Are _you_ okay with it?”  
  
“I mean, we already agreed to no funny business this weekend, so- Yeah.”  
  
“Then yeah,” Harry nods, “me too.”  
  
Two grown men climbing into a bed, at best, fit for a teenager, if not younger, is awkward to say the least. It’s a mess of long limbs clanking together and child-like giggles escaping them as they struggle to get comfortable.  
  
Niall falls asleep first, almost as soon as his head hits the pillow. He’s facing the wall, his body turned away from Harry, one arm tucked under his pillow and the other curled into his chest. The urge to curl around him and pull him close, despite his penchant for being the little spoon, has been getting stronger every night — but tonight, in the solitude of Niall’s childhood bedroom and the air of a town he isn’t familiar with, the urge is even stronger than before.  
  
He doesn’t have much time to think about why that is, however, before he too falls asleep.  
  
X  
  
Harry wakes up with Niall wrapped around him — and it’s the first time. Niall’s arm is wrapped tight around him and his face is tucked into the back of Harry’s neck. Perhaps it has more to do with the size of the bed, though, and the fact that there isn’t much space to move. He revels in it, nevertheless. In the feeling of Niall's arms, strong and firm, draped over him, in the feeling of Niall's bare chest pressed along the lines of his back.  
  
He gets up early, as he always does, being extra careful not to wake up Niall – who stirs, but then rolls over and continues to sleep. Then he goes for a wee. Brushes his teeth. Gets dressed as quietly as he can. And then he heads downstairs; he’s taking a break from running this weekend, but that doesn’t mean that he can’t go for a stroll around the neighbourhood.  
  
He bumps into Maura in the kitchen on his way around the house. Maura, who invites him to go into town to get breakfast from the best little coffee shop in Westmeath. And, well, who is he to pass it up?  
  
The drive into town is fairly quiet until she asks him about his job, which he explains, in great detail, how his boss fired him for doing the show – but it’s okay, because he’s worked up enough of a clientele through both the studio and through friends and family that he’ll be able to slowly transition into having his own business. The drive is short, though. Much shorter than the length of time it takes them to get into the shop, order their food and drinks, obtain their food, and then make it back to the car. That’s sort of a whole ordeal because, well- Small towns.  
  
And Harry is quite seasoned in small towns, having grown up in Holmes Chapel. Going anywhere when he goes home is sort of a big deal because everyone knows everyone and they all want to know everything; _How’s London treating you? Have you been to the London Eye? How’s school going? How’s work? Are you dating anyone?_  
  
The thing that really does it, though, here in Mullingar is Maura introducing Harry to just about everyone they come across as Niall’s husband. That gets people talking — and talking and talking and staring and asking questions. _How’d you two meet? Where’d you two meet? That was a fast engagement, aye? That’s a really nice ring, did Niall pick it out?_  
  
Harry’s sort of mentally exhausted by the time they get to the car.  
  
X  
  
The cameras are rolling again the second they walk through the front door, just as Niall walks out of the kitchen.  
  
“There you two are, always disappearing,” Niall hums.  
  
Maura smiles as she hold up two brown, paper bags before she squeezes past a cameraman to get to the kitchen.  
  
“It’s like you read my mind,” Niall grins back as he follows..  
  
“Where’s Chris?”  
  
“Right here, my dearest,” the man in question says as he walks in through the back door. He leans in to press a kiss against Maura’s cheek and then winks at the camera. “Morning, love. Boys.”  
  
“Morning,” they all say in unison.  
  
“‘s like you read my mind,” Chris murmurs, before digging right into one of the bags Maura has placed on the counter.  
  
With Maura and Chris both occupied, Niall turns to look at Harry and takes the coffee Harry offers him from the cardboard tray in his hands before he sets it on the counter. “How was it?” he asks softly, so as not to let his mother and Richard hear, despite the fact that there’s a giant microphone hanging above them.  
  
“Interesting,” Harry hums. “Especially when your mum started telling people I was your husband.”  
  
Niall smirks. “How’d that go?”  
  
“We managed to beat around the bush and not have to spill the whole truth.”  
  
Niall shrugs. “Probably for the best,” he murmurs. “The same sex-thing is one thing, but the married-at-first-sight thing might be a bigger problem than it’s worth.”  
  
Harry hums, looks away as he grabs his own coffee. He knows that Niall doesn’t mean anything bad by it, but something about that stings a bit.  
  
“Shit, I- I’m sorry,” Niall whispers, reaching to grasp Harry’s arm. Harry thinks it’s probably more of a reflex than anything. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. I just-“  
  
“I know,” Harry says. “It’s okay.”  
  
Niall sighs. “Just- You can tell me when I’m being an arse, yeah? I’m not trying to be.”  
  
Harry feels his whole body soften, feels his heart skip a beat in his chest. “I don’t think you’re an arse. You’re blunt and borderline offensive, but I don’t think you’re an arse.”  
  
Niall smiles softly, runs his hand along the length of Harry’s arm to squeeze at his fingers.  
  
“I also think you have a nice arse,” Harry whispers, just under his breath enough so that neither Maura nor Chris can hear.  
  
Niall smirks, wiggles his bum a bit before reaching for one of the brown paper bags.  
  
“Oi, lads,” Chris says, pausing to take a sip of his coffee. “Still up for the golf today?”  
  
“Harry is,” Niall says. “I didn’t get an invite.”  
  
“Didn’t get- Niall, your invitation is a given.”  
  
“Nah, he uninvited me yesterday when he invited Harry.”  
  
Chris snorts. “He was taking the piss, mate. Ask him yourself when he gets here.”  
  
Maura and Chris leave through the back door to sit on the patio. Niall looks at Harry. “You think he was taking the piss?”  
  
Harry shrugs. “He’s _your_ dad. I only met him yesterday.”  
  
Niall groans. “He’s lucky it’s his bloody birthday.”  
  
X  
  
  
“So, as you can probably tell,” Bobby says as he places his club back into his bag with the others, “I want to talk to a bit about Niall. Man to man.”  
  
“Is that why you’ve been slacking?” Harry asks, a curiously knowing eyebrow raised.  
  
“Don’t tell Niall.”  
  
Niall and Chris have moved ahead of them, leaving Harry alone with Bobby on the 15th hole. Harry could tell, about three holes back, that Bobby had started to put less of a swing into his swing. At first, he’d thought that it was to let Niall win — because Niall gets surprisingly competitive. But now he knows that it was merely a ploy to get Harry alone. The not-so-sneaky bugger.  
  
Harry nods as he falls into step with Bobby towards the next hole. “What is it you’d like to know, Mr. Horan?”  
  
The older man makes a face. “First of all, you can call me Bobby. In fact, please call me Bobby. Mr. Horan makes me feel older than I feel.”  
  
Harry smiles.  
  
“And, honestly- I’d just like to know what your intentions are with him,” Bobby says.  
  
“The only intention I have is to get to know him,” Harry replies, “to see where this marriage takes us over the course of the next six or seven weeks, and, hopefully, to make it work long-term.”  
  
Bobby cocks an eyebrow. “Is that what you want? A long-term relationship?”  
  
Harry nods. He’s beginning to feel a little queasy.  
  
“Just- In general? Or with him, specifically?”  
  
“With him specifically,” Harry says.  
  
Bobby licks his lips, adjusts the hat on his head. “Why with him specifically?”  
  
“The people behind this experiment didn’t just throw us together for the hell of it,” Harry begins to explain. It’s been a common misconception ever since his application had been accepted. He doesn’t mind explaining it though – yet. “We were paired together based on compatibility — which is essentially based on how well our personalities should work together in theory. The whole point of the experiment is to see if we actually will work well together, and if two people can fall in love this way.  
  
“And I like to think that I could- Fall in love with him this way, that is.”  
  
Bobby hums, looks thoughtful for a moment as he looks away.  
  
“I know that it’s probably difficult to understand,” Harry continues, then. "Before I signed up, I thought the whole idea was a load of shit too. But I was clearly doing something very, very wrong on my own, so- I don’t know, I thought why not let someone who actually knows what they’re doing help me out.”  
  
“I don’t think it’s a load of shit. I think it’s definitely unconventional, but I don’t think it’s a load of shit. It’s just- Niall has been through some things. The last thing I want is for him to get hurt.”  
  
“The last thing I want to do is to hurt him,” Harry says softly.  
  
Bobby smiles softly, reaches out to squeeze gently at Harry’s shoulder. “Okay,” he murmurs. “Good. Then- I guess you can say now that you officially have my blessing.”  
  
“Thank you, Bobby,” Harry says, smiling back gently. The way his heart feels like it does a somersault isn’t lost on him.  
  
X  
  
After golf comes dinner with about 20 people Harry has never met and can’t really remember the names of, in a pub that Harry also can’t remember the name of.  
  
The place is small, and their group of people — from Niall’s aunts and uncles, to some of his cousins and a few of his friends — take up about three quarters of the tables the pub has to offer. And even then, being a small town and all that, even the people who aren’t there specifically for Bobby’s birthday end up more or less joining them.  
  
Harry finds himself in a booth in the far, back corner of the pub, sitting with Niall and a couple of his cousins. There’s Willie and there’s Deo and neither of them look alike but Harry, for the life of him, can’t remember who is who. Not that he needs to remember, really; as long he doesn’t call them by the wrong name, he should be fine. He thinks. (He isn’t even going to try to remember anyone else’s names. Not yet, anyway.)  
  
After dinner, Bobby announces The Chug. [The Chug, according to Niall (who whispers in his ear): everyone gets a pint of Guinness, after which two things happen. First, they all drink until they think they’ve had just enough to have the beer land between the logo on the glass and the Guinness label. Then, they all chug what’s left until they have a winner — who wins nothing more than bragging rights, and a loser — who stays the loser until the next Chug.]  
  
“You don’t have to do it,” Niall tells him, even as he sets a pint in front of both of them.  
  
“But I want to,” Harry insists.  
  
“Yeah,” one cousin, maybe Willie, says. “He wants to. So shut it.”  
  
Niall rolls his eyes, then looks at Harry as if to ask if he’s sure. Harry nods to reassure him, knows that Niall is just looking out for him.  
  
On the count of three, is when everyone drinks and it only takes a matter of seconds before everyone stops again to check their glasses by placing them on the table in front of them. Niall’s is the closest to the invisible goal line, followed closely by Bobby, naturally. Harry’s is the furthest, having undershot his landing by about one centimetre. On another count of three, is when everyone starts to chug — and chug, and chug.  
  
Bobby finishes off his pint first, to a round of applause from other patrons in the pub. His success is followed by Greg, a second later, and then by Niall. And Harry, predictably, comes in last — which results in some mild cackling and teasing, before one of Niall’s uncles boasts about how his losing just means that he has to redeem himself the next time he and Niall are in town.  
  
Harry’s stomach fills with butterflies at the prospect of Niall’s family wanting to see him again. And when he looks over his shoulder, it’s to find that Niall’s face has gotten considerably more pink — although it’s unclear as to whether that’s due to the beer or the comment. (Harry hopes it’s the comment.)  
  
X  
  
They don’t make it to the second bar they’re supposed to hit on their pub crawl until it’s already going on 11 o’clock at night — and that’s largely due to the fact that everyone kept ordering round after round of pints because one half couldn’t keep up with the other half.  
  
Somewhere on the walk over, Harry had tripped over his own two feet on the sidewalk and Niall had reached out to grasp at his hand to keep him from planting his face into the asphalt. And then he’d kept holding onto Harry’s hand, their palms pressed together and their fingers intertwined. In all the times they’ve touched each other in private, or been casually flirty in public — whether in line at the grocery store, or on their first mandatory date mid-week last week, they’ve never done anything as simple, and yet somehow intimate, as hold hands. It feels nice. It feels good.  
  
It feels like his fingers fit so perfectly between Niall’s that it’s as if they were made for each other.  
  
They’re barely through the door, trailing after everyone else, when someone shouts Niall’s name. It’s not a voice he recognizes, although that doesn’t mean quite that much tonight. And, as it turns out, it’s not a bloke he recognizes either.  
  
The bloke is all long limbs and dark hair and blue eyes and a literal button nose. He’s smiling, greets a couple of Niall’s cousins on his way towards them — and Niall’s whole face lights up as he drops Harry’s hand before they both lean in for a long, tight hug.  
  
Harry isn’t quite sure what to think, or even what to do, so he stuffs his hands into the front pockets of his jeans and hangs back.  
  
“Mate,” Eoghan laughs, pulling back, “I saw Bobby come in with everyone and I knew you wouldn’t be too far behind.”  
  
“Yeah, well- Birthday celebration and all that.”  
  
“Shite, right- Remind me to wish him a good one.”  
  
“Don’t think he cares, honestly,” Niall shrugs. “I didn’t think you’d be here. Thought you off elsewhere with your lady friend.”  
  
“We was, yeah. Got back this morning. She’s around here somewhere, actually- Think she went to the toilet.”  
  
Niall hums.  
  
“Who’s this bloke here with ya?” the friend asks, curious eyebrow raised.  
  
Niall tosses a glance back at him, almost as if he’d forgotten that Harry was there. “T-This is,” he pauses, smiles softly. “This is Harry. He’s my husband. Harry, this is my good friend Eoghan.”  
  
Eoghan’s eyes widen — and Harry might have found it comical, the way he looks like a deer caught in the headlights, if he didn’t already feel so awkward. “Husband?” he asks, like he’s looking for confirmation. “ _Your_ husband?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“Since when?”  
  
“Since last weekend.”  
  
“Last weekend? You got married last weekend and didn’t tell anyone? When did you meet?”  
  
“Last weekend.”  
  
Eoghan blinks, taken aback. And then his eyes widen again, only this time in recognition. “Mate. You didn’t-“  
  
“Louis did.”  
  
Eoghan smirks, folds both arms across his chest. “And?”  
  
“And it’s been good.”  
  
“Right. Well then- So long as it’s been good, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Harry.”  
  
Harry takes the hand he offers and shakes it. “Likewise.”  
  
“Let me buy you both a drink. And Bobby- Where’s Bobby? Bobby Horan!”  
  
Niall turns to face Harry, whilst Eoghan wanders off in search of Bobby. He smiles softly, albeit awkwardly. “So- Sorry, about that. I wish that wasn’t so awkward.”  
  
Harry shrugs. “It’s an awkward situation. ‘s not your fault.”  
  
“He’s really cool, I promise. You’ll like him.”  
  
And, well- Harry hopes so.  
  
X  
  
Harry’s in the toilet, and he’s about to flush it when the door opens, followed by Niall’s loud laugh. He pauses, and then he’s about to flush anyway, when he hears Eoghan’s voice – and suddenly every muscle in his body freezes.  
  
“So, have you told Bressie yet?”  
  
“No,” Niall sighs. “Honestly, I only just told everyone yesterday morning.”  
  
“Yesterday?” Eoghan asks, sounding surprised. “Christ. Mate, you need to work on your communication.”  
  
“Don’t remind me,” Niall mutters.  
  
“Starting with Bressie. He should know.” Eoghan sounds incredibly serious, and even more sincere. Both sounds make Harry wonder who this Bressie fellow is and why he should know?  
  
“I’m sort of surprised you haven’t already texted him,” Niall admits.  
  
“Well, see- Normally I would have, but he’s holed himself up in LA for the weekend to get some writing done.”  
  
“He’s writing again? That’s great.”  
  
Niall sounds sort of happily surprised. But there’s something else there, in his voice, that Harry can’t quite comprehend — though it makes his stomach twist all the same. He isn’t sure he likes this Bressie fellow. Or Eoghan.  
  
“How’s the marriage going, anyway?”  
  
“It’s- It’s good.” The hesitancy in Niall’s response time sort of stings in Harry’s chest, a bit.  
  
“You don’t sound too sure.”  
  
“It is,” Niall says, more confident this time. “It is good. It’s just- We’re still getting to know each other, y’know? I’m still getting used to sharing my space again. It’s- It’s weird, but it’s good. We’re good.”  
  
“Is it everything you thought it would be?”  
  
Niall snorts. “I reckon this marriage is nothing like how anyone thinks marriage will be.”  
  
Eoghan makes a noise that he agrees, and then- “How’s the sex?”  
  
“Subtle,” Niall laughs, and Harry can hear the smirk in his voice.  
  
“That’s the most important question, right?” Eoghan defends. “So?”  
  
“We haven’t had sex yet.”  
  
“What?!”  
  
Through the crack in the door, Harry can see Niall shrug. He can also see the gobsmacked look on Eoghan’s face.  
  
“How? Fucking hell, Niall, I’m straight but even I would let him do whatever he wanted with me.”  
  
“I mean, we’ve- We’ve done some stuff, we just haven’t-“  
  
“Well what the bloody hell are you waiting for, mate?”  
  
Niall sighs, rolls his eyes. “Can we go back to talking about the fact that Bressie is writing again?”  
  
“No, because I have a more important question. Who’s better — Bressie, or Harry?”  
  
“I’m not answering that.”  
  
“Why not?”  
  
“Because you’re not going to be shagging either of them,” Niall says, as if it’s all as simple as that.  
  
And then they’re gone, with Niall’s laugh drifting behind him, and Harry’s stomach feels heavy with what feels an awful lot like jealousy.  
  
Who is Bressie? Why would it matter to Bressie that Niall is married now? And what, exactly, is the depth of his relationship with Niall?  
  
X  
  
Harry hadn’t meant to get this drunk, honest, and yet here he is: leaning against Niall’s side as he stumbles up the driveway. Ahead of them are Maura and Chris and behind them are Bobby and Melanie. Everyone except Maura is pretty intoxicated, especially Bobby — and yet, somehow, Harry has still managed to out-intoxicate the birthday boy.  
  
“I promise ‘m not usually this much of a messy drunk,” Harry finds himself slurring. It’s meant to be a whisper, but he’s pretty sure that everyone hears him.  
  
Niall snorts, adjusts his grip around Harry’s waist to keep him from tipping over.  
  
“It’s alright to be a lightweight, Harry,” Bobby calls out to him. His voice is rather loud, though, so Melanie shushes him — which only results in Bobby repeating himself in a whisper.  
  
“He’s not a lightweight,” Niall laughs. “He’s just- Not Irish.”  
  
They get through the front door, albeit with a little bit of difficulty and Harry has to literally kick his shoes off whilst holding onto Niall’s shoulders to keep from toppling over. Niall’s shoulders are broad and muscular, even beneath the t-shirt that’s been covering him up all night, and Harry sort of wants to rip it off of him. He wants to leave a trail of kisses through his stubble and nip at his thick, luscious neck. Wants to leave a love bite, or two, on his collarbones and dig his nails into Niall’s shoulders.  
  
“Do you boys want anything?” Maura asks, as she pours herself a glass of wine.  
  
“Some water for the non-Irish?” Chris suggests with a snicker.  
  
“Heyyy,” Harry murmurs.  
  
“I think I should try to just get him to bed,” Niall says, tugging him towards the stairs. He pauses, though, to face his father. “Happy birthday, old man.”  
  
“Thank you, young son,” Bobby chuckles. He gives Niall’s shoulder a pat and then brings him into a hug, all the while being mindful of Harry. (Which Harry is grateful for, as the room spins.) “See you lads in the morning.”  
  
  
  
Harry flops onto the edge of the bed, looking up at Niall with heavy eyes.  
  
Niall smirks down at him. “What?”  
  
“C’mere,” Harry whispers, slipping one finger through one of Niall’s belt loops to tug him closer.  
  
“What are you-“ he cuts himself off when Harry presses his forehead against Niall’s stomach — which is immediately followed by his fingers fumbling with the button on his trousers. “Harry-“  
  
“I wanna suck you off,” Harry murmurs, grinning up at him as he finally pops the button.  
  
“Just- Hang on,” Niall breathes, collecting Harry’s hands in his. “Thought we agreed to no sex in my parents’ house.”  
  
Harry shrugs. “You just have to be quiet.”  
  
“Harry-“  
  
“I want you,” Harry whispers.  
  
“Haz-“  
  
“I wanna be better.”  
  
Niall pins Harry’s hands together and takes a small step back. “Better? What are you talking about?”  
  
“Than Bressie,” Harry finds himself admitting. “I wanna be better than Bressie.”  
  
Niall blinks. “How do you know about Bressie?”  
  
“I heard you talking to Eoghan in the toilet. Why didn’t you tell me about him? Who is he?”  
  
“He’s just- He’s a friend-“  
  
“Sounded like more than a friend.”  
  
Niall sighs, shakes his head. “Yeah, because we’ve hooked up a couple of times, but- Hang on. Are you saying you want to be better at sucking me off than he is?”  
  
Harry nods. “I want to be better. If I’m gonna be your husband, I have to be better.”  
  
Niall laughs, and Harry’s chest tightens because- Why is he laughing? It isn’t funny — and he says as much, pouting his lips as he looks up at Niall. “What’s funny, Haz, is that you think you need to be better at all — let alone than Bressie.”  
  
Harry’s eyes widen and his whole face lights up, he can feel it. “Am I already better?”  
  
Niall stares at him, silent for a moment. And then he runs a hand through Harry’s hair. “The best.”  
  
Harry’s heart stutters. “You’re not just saying that?”  
  
“No,” Niall says softly, shaking his head. “And I’ll let you prove it to me.”  
  
“Yeah,” Harry asks, reaching once more for the button on Niall’s trousers.  
  
But, once again, Niall stops him. “When we get home,” he says.  
  
The thought of going home with Niall makes something in Harry’s stomach flutter, and it’s enough to render him speechless. Niall has never used the term ‘home’ before, not where Harry is concerned anyway; Harry thinks it’s just a Niall-being-distant thing. But hearing him say it now, makes him feel warmer and fuzzier than he thinks any amount of alcohol could.  
  
Niall goes on to coax Harry out of his clothes – “Keep the briefs on though, yeah? Just in case.” – and, honestly, it has less to do with Niall coaxing and more to do with Harry being too tired to argue. And then, like the night before, there’s a lot of struggling as they both get into bed and try to get comfortable. Niall murmurs something about how he’d forgotten that Harry is all limps, but there’s a fondness in his voice that makes Harry blush.  
  
Without thinking, or even processing the thought itself, Harry finds himself telling Niall that he’s in the mood for a cuddle. And then, before even has to ask if Niall minds complying, Niall grabs gently at Harry’s arm to pull him in against his chest.  
  
And that’s how they fall asleep.  
  
X  
  
It’s how they wake up too. Again. Only this time Harry stays within the comfortable confines of Niall’s arms until Niall begins to stir himself awake – and then he stays, revels in the way Niall pulls him closer and buries his face against the back of Harry’s neck before he really wakes up. Niall’s morning breath – and Harry too, probably – reeks of stale beer as Niall leans in to press a lazy kiss against Harry’s lips, but the kiss itself is heavenly anyway.  
  
They have a late breakfast with Maura and Chris, and Bobby and Melanie, and Greg and Denise and Theo. (Theo spends the entire meal sitting on Harry’s lap, explaining the exact way he’s supposed to eat his meats and his eggs and his potatoes – and Harry loves every second of it.)  
  
Bobby offers to drive them back to Dublin to catch their flight afterwards, but Niall refuses to make his father drive two hours out of his way so, instead, Bobby drops them off at the bus station. He hugs Niall tight and promises that he’ll get around to visiting him in London sometime in the near future. And then he hugs Harry, whispers in his ear to take care of his boy, and then says that he looks forward to getting to know more about him in the future as he steps back.  
  
The flight is long, or so Niall tells him; Harry misses most of it because he falls asleep 10 minutes in. He blames it on the hangover that has been plaguing him all morning.  
  
They barely make it home, hardly make it through the front door before they’re on each other. Tugging at each other’s clothes, nipping at each other’s skin. Harry drops to his knees in the kitchen, hangover forgotten, intent on showing Niall that Harry really is the best that Niall has ever had.  
  
Harry sucks him down hard and fast. He works Niall’s dick the way he knows Niall likes, both with his hands and his mouth. It’s messy and it’s a bit hurried, the way Harry takes him all the way in – the way he slurps and gags around Niall’s cock, the way he hums just to drive Niall crazy.  
  
Niall shouts when he comes; voice hoarse, fingers lost in Harry’s hair, hips stuttering, dick hitting the back of Harry’s throat as Harry swallows every drop.  
  
Harry comes in his pants with nothing but a whimper a moment later, and Niall doesn't even have to touch him. 


	4. First Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Did- Did I do something wrong?” Niall asks, licking nervously as his own lips. “D-Did I hurt you last night?” He feels sick. Feels awful with the thought that he might have, even though Harry hadn’t given any indication that he did. He’d been gentle – they both had.
> 
> Harry sighs, shakes his head. “No,” he mutters. “You didn’t hurt me last night.”
> 
> “Then can I ask what’s wrong?”
> 
> Harry shakes his head again, “Nothing. It’s nothing.”
> 
> “It’s not nothing,” Niall says. He reaches for Harry once more, gets him by the hips as he tries to step around him, pulls him in close and keeps his hands there. “Hey- I know it’s not nothing. You keep pulling away every time I try to get close, and you won’t even look at me, so- It’s not nothing. Just- Tell me what’s wrong, pet.”
> 
> Harry licks his lips, folds his arms across his chest. “What’s the ring for?”

[First Date]

.

.

 

The following week goes by slowly.

On Monday, Niall goes to work early and Harry spends the day driving around London, dipping into cafes and grocery stores and, well, anywhere he thinks will have a bulletin board so that he can pin the business cards he’d received in the mail which Liam, a friend that lives in his building, had delivered to him on the way to the fire station. Harry has dinner almost ready by the time Niall walks through the door at 4:30.

On Tuesday, Niall goes to work and Harry spends hours upon hours looking through sites like Kijiji for ads looking for a photographer. He doesn’t find much, and the ones he does find seem shady so he keeps scrolling before he gives up altogether and goes for a run to clear his head.  This time, dinner is ready almost at the exact second that Niall walks through the door.

On Wednesday, Niall goes to work and Harry doesn’t really have anything to do so he does small things around the house and gets a couple of errands Niall had mentioned wanting to get done so that Niall doesn’t have to. While he’s out, when he comes across one of his business cards on a bench; it’s ripped down the longer side. He takes a picture with his phone and sends it to Niall, along with: _At least my cards are good for something._ Niall replies within seconds; first, with a few laughing emojis, and then with: _At least they went with yours yeah ? They probably didn’t even pay attention to the others that were there so that’s something !_

Thursday is another slow day for Harry, so he spends the afternoon editing photos he hadn’t previously got around to editing but had always wanted to. He likes some of them so much that he goes out to get them printed. Thursday also happens to be a late day for Niall. It’s late to start, because some of the lads he’s working with aren’t able to get to the studio until 11 o’clock, and it’s late to end which means that Harry ends up eating dinner alone. Niall texts Harry at 6:30 to tell him that he’s going for pints with the lads after they finish up in a couple of hours and that Harry should join. Thursday is the day Harry officially meets Niall’s London friends, the blokes he works with; they’d been at the wedding, but he hadn’t managed to talk to any of them, so they’ve all decided that it doesn’t count. (John is his favourite.)

Friday is a good day. Actually- It’s a _great_ day. Niall goes to the studio early, but it’s a slower day than usual so he spends it texting Harry about their date on Saturday. (It’s one of the challenges for the experiment. Plan a date together and then execute it and see how it goes – Harry has been looking forward to it all week and, based on Niall’s texts, so has Niall.) And Harry is just finishing up lunch when he gets an email that could change everything for him.

X

It’s quiet when Niall walks through the door, save for the humming coming from the kitchen. A gentle smile tugs at Niall’s lips as he toes his shoes off, uses his feet to push them off to the side next to Harry’s in front of the closet. He drops his keys and his wallet into the glass bowl on the table next to the door before making his way to the kitchen, where he lingers in the doorway to watch Harry bop around slightly in front of the stove.

Harry has a tendency to hum along to whatever song is playing, not unlike the way Niall’s hands sort of just take on a mind of their own whenever there’s a beat, but today Harry is without any music and there’s something endearing in that; there’s something to be said about the fact that Harry is humming (and dancing, it seems, if the wiggle of his hips every now and then is anything to go by) to his own tune. He’s happy about something, and it’s that thought that makes Niall want to know more.

“What are you so happy about?” Niall asks from the doorway.

Harry turns his head to smile at him over his shoulder. He doesn’t jump this time, which means that he either heard Niall come in – which would make sense, given that there was no music when he came, or Harry had just simply sensed his presence. Either way, his smile puts dimples in his cheeks and Niall sort of wants to poke them. “I got a job today,” Harry says.

Niall’s eyes widen, and he smiles as he walks in closer. “That’s great! What’s it for?”

“A wedding on Sunday.”

“That’s- Not that much notice,” Niall notes.

Harry shrugs as he stirs sauce around in the pan. “Their original photographer had to cancel, I guess, and they saw my card and then checked out my website,” he explains. “And- Our date night is tomorrow, so it’s not like I have anything to do on Sunday, right?”

Niall smiles as he shakes his head.

“And I have all of my equipment, so- I’ll be fine. It’ll be good.”

“That’s amazing, Haz. C’mere,” Niall murmurs, pulls him gently into a hug and tucks his chin into Harry’s neck.

Harry does the same, tucks his face into the crook of Niall’s neck, and smiles.

“This could open so many doors for you. Could widen your clientele. You could make a name for yourself.”

“Dunno about that,” Harry mutters as he pulls back. “It’s just one job.”

“For now,” Niall says, running a hand up his back to squeeze at his shoulders. “I’ve seen your photos, and they’re incredible.”

The colour in Harry’s cheeks brightens as he turns away, focuses his attention back on the sauce in front of them.

“I’m telling you,” Niall insists. “You’ll be someone someday. Could end up being a photographer for, like, Adele or someone.”

Harry snorts. “Yeah, right. Besides- I’m pretty sure she’s retired now. Unless you know something on the inside?”

Niall rolls his eyes. If he’s learned anything over the last few weeks so far, it’s that Harry doesn’t have a lot of confidence in himself – and he knows better than to argue so, instead, he has another plan. “You know what this news calls for?” he asks, although the question itself is rhetorical because he doesn’t even wait for an answer before he slips his hands around Harry’s hips to fiddle with the button of his trousers.

A breath gets caught in Harry’s throat as one hand covers both of Niall’s. “T-The sauce is almost ready,” Harry stutters, despite the way his body melts against Niall’s.

Niall hums, reaches one hand out to turn the knob for the element towards the off position. Then, with his other hand, he moves the pan onto another burner. “I like to think a celebratory blowie is a bit more important,” he whispers.

“I mean,” Harry murmurs as he turns around, “I suppose so.”

“You _suppose so_?” Niall asks, quirking an eyebrow.

Harry shrugs. “I mean, yeah.”

Niall rolls his eyes once more; he knows that Harry is only teasing but he goes along with it anyway. “Yeah,” he mutters, pulling him through the kitchen by the belt loop. “We’ll see about your _suppose so_.”

X

The morning starts with both of them getting up much later than either of them had planned to, which results in a bit of an argument between Niall and the head of the camera crew that had been waiting outside for them. They go back and forth for a good 10 minutes, the man ranting about how “there are call times for a reason, and that reason is so that we don’t end up wasting our time”, Niall telling the man that “first of all, it was an accident that we slept in – and second of all-“

Well, Niall doesn’t get the second part out, whatever it was, because Harry grabs him gently by the shoulders to pull him back so that Harry can step between them. He apologizes, tells the man that they’re going to make themselves breakfast in bed and that they have extra of everything that they need if he and the crew would like to make themselves something to eat after. That, thankfully, seems to calm things down – except for the way Niall grunts under his breath about not wanting to pay for the crew’s food after the boss man walks away, to which Harry tells him that he’ll make it up. (Niall thinks that means a blowie in the bedroom before they leave for Brighton for the afternoon – and, although that’s not actually what Harry means, because what he actually means is that he’ll pay Niall back, he isn’t going to deny himself Niall’s idea either.)

Breakfast consists of eggy bread with a side of turkey sausages (Harry’s health kick idea from the last time they went grocery shopping) and a fruit salad. Harry takes the lead in the kitchen and claims the making of the eggy bread, since he used to be a baker in high school-

“Did I ever tell you that?” Harry asks.

Niall smiles as he shakes his head. “No, but it somehow makes a lot of sense.”

Meanwhile, Niall takes on the sausages. They both share making the fruit salad.

It’s seamless, the way it all comes together. Effortless. The way they work in the kitchen together, moving with each other and around each other with an ease that seems practiced from having years of experience with each other. It’s only been a few weeks, though, and they barely have any experience at all – and yet somehow it works. _They_ work.

They’re going on a date today. Technically, it’s an exercise given to them by Julie. (But they’ve both been looking forward to it all week.)

She’d said that going on dates with each other would be important, that it is critical in maintaining a happy, healthy relationship. That they should set aside a day, once every week or two, to having a date – whether it be going out and doing something fun, or simply staying in and just enjoying each other’s company. She’d told them to plan it together, to come to an agreement on something they would both like to do and then plan the rest of their day around it.

And they’ve decided to go to the Brighton Pier. It’s just over an hour away, so the drive there and back will also provide them with plenty of time to talk – which was a bullet point that Julie had given them. After spending a few hours on the pier, the tentative plan is to stop somewhere, anywhere – some place random, even, to add to the excitement – for dinner on the way home. After that, there is no plan; whatever happens happens.

X

“Wow,” Harry says, looking all around him as they walk hand-in-hand down the pier. “I haven’t been here in years, and yet it’s hardly changed at all.” He looks excited, eyes wide and gleaming, mouth open in awe of his surroundings.

Niall looks at him and smiles. He’s well aware of the cameras following them, and he’s even more aware of the people watching them, probably wondering _why_ they have cameras following them, but Harry hardly seems to notice. Niall thinks too much, is the thing, he thinks. He worries too much, whereas Harry really enjoys living in the moment. Niall hopes that that’s a trait of Harry’s that will rub off on him with time. He’s having fun, that much is undeniable, and they’ve both been having a really great time together, it’s just he thinks he’d feel a lot less tense if he worried less about the people watching them.

“You’re thinking too much.”

Niall blinks. “What?”

“You’re thinking too much about everyone else, and not enough about me,” Harry says. “And I’m jealous, so you should make it up to me.”

“Oh yeah?” Niall asks, a smirk settling on his face. “And how do you propose I do that, Mr. Exhibitionist?”

Harry stops walking, tugging Niall to a halt as well. “You really want to know?”

“Mhm,” Niall murmurs, gaze settling on Harry’s lips for a brief moment before he looks back up to find Harry staring at his as he takes a step closer. Harry’s a bit insatiable, is the thing. And these days, so is Niall.

“I want you,” Harry starts, his voice but a whisper, “to win me the biggest bear we can find.”

Niall blinks, again, taken aback. Because- What?

“The biggest one,” Harry adds. “Please.”

Niall smirks. “The biggest one, hm?”

Harry nods, biting at his bottom lip as he smiles. “That is, if you think you can manage it,” he says, and there’s an underlying challenge in his tone.

“Alright,” Niall hums. His stomach does a little flip for the way Harry smiles. “Find me your bear, and I’ll win it for you.”

“That’s awfully confident of you,” Harry teases.

“You thought I was competitive when it came to golf,” Niall muses, “but you haven’t seen me play carnival games.”

Niall has always thought that carnival games and the like were a rip-off. Actually, he still thinks they’re a rip-off. Thinks it’s just a cash grab, an easy way to make money without having to actually give anything in return – at least, not very often. But there’s something about Harry, and the look on his face – and also the challenge in his voice, admittedly – that actually makes him want to do it.

And, well.

X

“I can’t believe you won’t let me go put that in the car,” Niall says, shaking his head despite the smile on his lips as they stand in line for ice cream.

The bear is massive, about as tall as Harry’s legs are long. It’s heavy too, for something that is only full of fluff. Niall won it in about 10 minutes, having worked his way up through three other sizes of stuffed animals.

“How am I meant to show off exactly how good my husband is at knocking down beer bottles if I don’t have the evidence with me?” Harry drawls playfully.

Niall rolls his eyes fondly. “You could _not_ show it off.”

“What’s the fun in that, though?”

“Wow!” a smaller voice whisper-shouts from almost directly behind them. “Mummy! Look at the size of that bear!”

Harry turns his head towards the voice, whilst Niall steps slightly off to the side to see around Harry’s arm. There’s a little boy standing with his mother in the next line over, waiting for mini donuts. His eyes are wide and he keeps tugging at his mum’s skirt to try and pull her attention away from another child that is standing with them.

“Mummy, look! I want one!”

“I see it, Robbie,” his mother says, running a hand through his blond hair. “Maybe you can try and win one next time, alright? It was either games or food, and we chose food, remember?”

The little boy frowns as he turns away, unaware of Niall and Harry watching him. “Yeah. Okay.”

The line moves and Niall instinctively moves with it, but Harry moves in the other direction. Confused, Niall looks on as Harry towards the little boy and his family.

“Is your name Robbie?” Harry asks, with the bear in his arms. And that’s when it clicks, that’s when Niall realizes what he’s about to do – and Niall’s chest swells.

“Um, yes,” the little boy, Robbie, murmurs, nodding his head.

“Well, thank goodness I found you,” Harry breathes dramatically. “I believe this bear belongs to you.”

“I don’t think so,” Robbie says, looking confused. His mother looks a bit concerned; stranger danger, probably.

“You see- My husband over there? He won the bear for me, but the bear has requested that he go home with a Robbie instead,” Harry tells him. “And since you’re Robbie, then you must be the one he requested.”

“Stuffed bears can’t talk,” the other, older boy says, rolling his eyes.

“Alexander,” the mother groans, chastising him.

“Yeah,” Robbie murmurs sadly. “Stuffed bears can’t talk.”

“They can if you listen really, really hard,” Harry says. “Trust me. I’d know.”

Robbie blinks. Looks up at his mom, who looks less concerned and more fond now, and then looks at Harry. “He really wants to come home with me?”

“Absolutely,” Harry says enthusiastically. He smiles as he holds the bear, about as big as Robbie himself, out for Robbie to take. “He’s very excited.”

Robbie jumps up and down excitedly, looking up at his mother once more with wide eyes. “Can I bring him home, mum? Please!”

The woman smiles. “Of course, darling.”

“Yes!” he cheers, wrapping his little arms around the bear’s neck.

“What do you say, Robbie?”

“Thank you!” Robbie says, smiling brightly up at Harry.

Harry smiles back as he tucks his hands into his pockets. “You’re very welcome, Robbie. Take care of each other, yeah?”

“We will!”

Niall’s heart feels as though it skips several beats as Harry makes his way back over to him, because this man- This man is so kind, and so generous and loving and- Perfect. He’s sort of really, really perfect.

“I will pay you back,” Harry says, but Niall is already shaking his head. “What?”

“There’s no need,” Niall murmurs, reaching out to curl his hand around the back of Harry’s neck. “That was money well spent.”

X

“Can I ask you something?”

Niall looks sideways, tears his gaze away from where the sun is setting over the horizon, to look at Harry standing next to him, arms folding across the railing. It’s the first time either of them have spoken in about five minutes, both of them content in their silence together. “Of course,” he replies softly.

Harry pushes himself away from the top of the railing, leans a hip against the bars. “What does your dream wedding look like?”

Niall smiles as he looks back out over the channel. “Well- When I was 17, I thought that I’d just elope. Didn’t really have a long attention span, and I didn’t think I’d want the whole ceremony plus reception thing – thought it would probably just be a waste of time.”

“And then?”

“And then,” Niall smirks, “I grew up, I guess.”

Harry quirks a curious eyebrow. “What does it look like now, then?”

“A small thing,” Niall says. “Tiny, even. Close family, a few close friends- For the ceremony, anyway. The reception after is a whole other party.”

“Where?”

“Somewhere that has meaning. Somewhere that, like, matters, you know? Somewhere that makes us feel something.”

Harry smiles softly, leans forward once more.

“What does _yours_ look like?” Niall asks in return, although he has a feeling that he already knows.

“Like- A lot like that, actually,” Harry responds – and, yeah, Niall thought so. “Small. Intimate. Meaningful. A backyard wedding, maybe.”

“A backyard wedding,” Niall echoes, his voice but a murmur. “I like that.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Niall nods, and something in his stomach flutters when Harry looks up at him. “It sounds like it would be kind of perfect, actually.”

Harry smiles. “My thoughts exactly.”

And, suddenly, all Niall wants is Harry. Just him and Harry. There’s nothing in the world, nobody else on the planet, that he wants more than sweet, perfect _Harry_. They’ve done the filming thing, and now all Niall wants is some proper alone time – with Harry. “Do you- Do you want to go home?”

“Why? Are you feeling sick or something?”

“No, I just- I just want to get out of here. I just want to be with _you_.”

“Oh. Yeah- Of Course.”

+

They don’t burst into the flat. They don’t bump into walls or cameramen. They don’t even trip over themselves because they can’t keep their hands off of each other on the way to the bedroom. They don’t rush.

Niall doesn’t want to rush. They’re alone now. The camera crew is gone, having left them at the elevators, filming right until the doors closed between them. It’s just them, with nothing else to do and nowhere else to go — and all the time in the world. And he wants to make it last as long as possible.  

They walk down the hallway towards the bedroom hand-in-hand. No bursting or bumping or tripping. Niall only lets go of Harry’s hand to close the door and fiddle with the light dimmer on the wall, as well as with the switch that shuts off both cameras that are mounted kitty-corner to each other up near the ceiling in two corners of the room; he turns the light on just enough that they can see each other but low enough that it seems sort of romantic.

And Harry is beautiful, when Niall sees him again. All dark, curly hair and dark, lustful green eyes, and light pink cheeks, and that delicious dimple in his cheek when his lips pull back into a smile. Niall wants to run his hands through Harry’s hair, wants to kiss him until his lips are bruised. Niall wants to strip Harry bare, wants to commit every beautiful line of his body, soft and harsh, to memory. He wants to take Harry apart slowly, wants to watch him unravel — properly, of course. Fully.

“I want to do so much with you,” Niall murmurs, walking towards him slowly. His stomach feels like it’s in his chest and his heart feels like it’s lodged itself up in his throat — and Niall hasn’t felt like this, about anyone, in ages. It’s been creeping up on him for weeks. He’s managed to push it back, to not let it consume him too much, to not get lost in it, but now he wants nothing more than to get lost in it. To get lost in Harry.

A smile tugs at Harry’s lips; it’s sort of shy, sort of tentative, sort of playful — and absolutely beautiful. “What- What about _to_ me?”

Niall blinks. He lifts a hand up and runs it through Harry’s hair.

“Because I’d let you.”

“Yeah?” Niall asks so softly that he barely makes a sound.

Harry’s hands come up to hold the lapels of Niall’s button down shirt tight between his fingers. He tugs Niall closer, until there’s barely any space at all between them. Until their foreheads are touching. “Please,” he whispers.

Niall grins, leans in to brush his lips against Harry’s only to pull back and smirk at the way Harry moans. “Thought you’d never ask, pet.”

They undress each other slowly — and Niall savours every second. From every breath to every gasp. From the way Harry practically hisses, the way his skin comes alive with soft little goosies, as Niall trails his fingertips over Harry’s arms to get his shirt off, to the way Harry pulls desperately at the fabric of Niall’s shirt to pull it over his head. From the way Harry grunts as he lifts his lips to allow Niall to pull his pants down over his arse, to way Harry palms himself — to the way he whines, low in his throat, when Niall bats Harry’s hand away from his dick. From the way Harry’s moans come out breathless with every kiss Niall leaves against his skin — across Harry’s hip bone, down Harry’s thigh, over his knee, to the way Harry grapples for Niall’s shoulders to pull him, closer. 

Niall only pulls away to lean over the side of the bed to fetch the little bottle of lube and a single condom out of the top drawer of his bedside table. Harry makes to roll over into his hands knees, but Niall manages to stop him with a hand on his elbow followed by the shake of his head. “I wanna see you,” he whispers. “I wanna see your beautiful face.”

And, God, he’s never wanted anything more.

The way Harry’s mouth falls open when Niall pushes just one finger into him- The way his breathing quickens as Niall pumps it in and out- The whine that tumbles from his lips when Niall pulls out the single digit, and the delicious moan that follows when Niall pushes in two- The way Harry breathes his name, begs him for more- And the way Harry looks like he’s in pure ecstasy, eyes blown out and lips so red, so wet, they look painted on when Niall replaces his fingers with his dick- He’s never wanted to see anything more.

He pushes in slowly, at first. Carefully. Doesn’t want to hurt Harry. Wants it to be good. 

And, Jesus Christ- It’s so good. Harry feels so fucking good; tight and hot around him. If he were younger, if he were a little less experienced, he reckons he’d have blown his load halfway in. 

Harry chokes on a gasp the moment Niall’s hips press flush against Harry’s arse, and he reaches up, fingers grappling at Niall’s shoulders before securing themselves in Niall’s hair as he pulls Niall down. Their lips meet in a hard, bruising kiss that Harry biting at Niall’s lips and sucking on his tongue. (Niall thinks he could get drunk off the way Harry tastes, just like Harry.) Then, Harry moves his hips like he wants more, like he wants Niall further, deeper — and that’s all the invitation Niall needs to try. 

He draws his hips back slowly, and then pushes back in. He draws his hips back a little faster, and pushes back in. He wraps his hand around Harry’s dick, where it’s hard and leaking against Harry’s soft tummy, and pumps him once, twice, at the same speed that he thrusts in and out. 

“Faster,” Harry pants, curling his legs up around Niall’s back. It opens him up, changes the angle ever so slightly — but it’s enough, if the way he moans, so prettily, is anything to go by. “God,” he gasps. “You- You feel-“

“So good,” Niall groans, pulling out quick before slamming back in. “You feel so good, pet. So fucking good for me.”

Harry cries out, then. It’s loud and raunchy and goes straight to Niall’s dick and Niall isn’t sure if it’s because the little praise kink Harry has, or if it’s because Niall’s finally found _it_ — until thrusts back in, and Harry cries out again. With every thrust, Harry cries out, and Niall honestly couldn’t care less if the neighbours can hear — in fact he sort of wants them to hear. Hell, if Niall has known that this how Harry would sound, so beautiful and wrecked, then-

“’m gonn’ cum,” Harry slurs. “You’re gonna make me cum.”

“Yeah,” Niall whispers. He starts pumping Harry’s dick faster, harder, the way he knows Harry likes — pumps his hips harder, faster, impossibly deeper. “Cum for me, baby. C’mon.”

Harry cums with a shout and a gasp and a cry, all at the same time. His whole body shakes as he cums, thin ropes of it landing on his stomach. Niall continues to pull him off, gets his hand wet and sticky with it as he fucks Harry through his orgasm. 

He kisses Harry, swallows his moans, chases his own orgasm. It only takes a few more thrusts, with the way Harry’s asshole flutters and squeezes him, before Niall’s cumming too. Presses his hips flush against Harry’s arse and buries his face in the crook of Harry’s neck and bites down. He growls with the force of his own orgasm as he comes into the condom and collapses on top of Harry.

Harry, who cards his hand through Niall’s hair and whispers, “I’ve got you.”

X

Niall hears the commotion before he sees it. It, being Harry moving quickly about the living room. He’s moving pillows around, pushing the cushions on the sofa up and then shoving them back down; he’s running his hands through damp hair, pushing back his curls and chewing at his bottom lip like he’s troubled. Niall can tell that he’s nervous; could tell that he was last night, after they made love and before they both fell asleep.

(Perhaps it’s a silly thing to think – that they made love, seeing as they’ve only known each other for a few weeks. But ‘had sex’ doesn’t quite describe it, and ‘fucked’ is a little too harsh for how it felt last night. It was intimate in a way that was too pure for it to be described by either of those things.)

“Hey,” Niall says, leaning against the wall next to the telly. “If you’re looking for your extra battery pack, it’s in the kitchen.”

Harry looks at him, and blinks. “Thanks,” he mutters.

“Hey,” Niall says, softer this time, as he reaches for Harry’s arm to stop him from passing by. “C’mere.”

“I can’t,” Harry says, twisting his wrist out of Niall’s grip. “I have to get my battery pack.”

“O-Okay,” Niall whispers, taken aback. Harry’s voice sounds so cold that it sends shivers down Niall’s spine. He watches, silent, as Harry grabs the battery pack off the counter and pulls the charger out of the outlet on the wall next to the stove. He continues to watch as Harry stuffs both devices into the front pocket of his camera bag before moving to set the bag down by the front door.

Harry continues to move about the flat as he gathers his things, and Niall can’t help but feel like something is wrong. It’s more than just his nervousness. It’s something else, and whatever it is doesn’t sit well with Niall – especially because every time Niall tries to talk to him, Harry shuts him down, and every time Niall tries to touch him, Harry pulls back as if Niall had hurt him.

Niall’s stomach churns at the thought of hurting Harry. He wishes that Harry would at least look at him; doesn’t understand why Harry won’t. “Harry,” he murmurs. “Haz, talk to me.”

“I have to leave in a few minutes,” is all Harry says, as if Niall doesn’t know that.

“Did- Did I do something wrong?” Niall asks, licking nervously as his own lips. “D-Did I hurt you last night?” He feels sick. Feels awful with the thought that he might have, even though Harry hadn’t given any indication that he did. He’d been gentle – they both had.

Harry sighs, shakes his head. “No,” he mutters. “You didn’t hurt me last night.”

“Then can I ask what’s wrong?”

Harry shakes his head again, “Nothing. It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing,” Niall says. He reaches for Harry once more, gets him by the hips as he tries to step around him, pulls him in close and keeps his hands there. “Hey- I know it’s not nothing. You keep pulling away every time I try to get close, and you won’t even look at me, so- It’s not nothing. Just- Tell me what’s wrong, pet.”

Harry licks his lips, folds his arms across his chest. “What’s the ring for?”

Niall blinks, taken aback. His heart skips a beat, and his stomach sort of plummets. “What?”

“The ring in your closet,” Harry says. “What, or should I say _who_ , is it for?”

And- Shit. Shit. He’d forgotten all about that. He’d pushed it to the back of his side of the closet weeks ago, to keep Harry from finding it, and then he’d forgotten all about it. Forgotten that he still had it. Hadn’t even thought about telling Harry about it, let alone thought about what he’d say if Harry were to stumble upon it. “It’s- Nobody. It isn’t for anybody.”

Harry scoffs, rolls his eyes like he doesn’t believe Niall in the slightest. “I have to go,” he mutters. This time, when he tries to step around Niall, Niall lets him go.

“Haz,” he murmurs, turning around to follow him.

“I don’t want to be late,” Harry says, picking up his camera bag – which he’d left at the front door not two minutes ago.

“You won’t be late,” Niall promise. “Just- Can we talk?”

Harry snorts, and Niall hates how bitter it sounds as he whirls around to face him. “Oh, _now_ you want to talk?”

Niall sighs, feels his chest tighten, hates the way it makes him feel because, well, Harry does have point. “Harry, listen, it’s not what you think. It’s old- It’s from an old relationship.”

“And you _kept_ it,” Harry says, shaking his head. “Great.”

“It’s not like that. I-“

“I don’t have time for this,” Harry says, and this time his voice is firm as he looks at Niall with hard eyes. “I have to go.”

Niall stands back this time, and watches as Harry leaves. He doesn’t try to get in the way, doesn’t try to stop him. Harry has a job to do, after all, and Niall has to let him put that first right now. They can talk later. Niall will just have to explain everything later – even if he should have explained everything a long, long time ago.

X

“So,” Louis drawls he flops back onto Niall’s couch, beer in hand. He folds one leg up, rests his ankle on top of the opposite knee, stretches an arm out across the back of the sofa, and looks up at Niall with curious eyes. “How’s married life? I feel like we haven’t talked in ages, mate.”

And, well- They haven’t, is the thing. Not since a few days after the wedding, when he and Harry had gotten back from Italy. They’ve both been busy, and Niall hasn’t had nearly as much free time as he used to. 

“It was great,” Niall says, dropping himself onto the cushion next to his friend. He leans all the way back until the back of his head is resting on the back of the sofa. “Until this morning.”

Louis quirks an eyebrow. “You fucked up, didn’t you? And that’s why you rang me over.” 

Niall nods.

“Alright then, let’s have it. What did you do?”

“He found the ring,” Niall says. And that’s all he needs to say, if the way Louis’ eyes widen is anything to go by.

“The ring,” Louis echoes. “ _Her_ ring?”

Niall nods again. He hates the way his stomach churns, the way it feels sick. Hates the way his chest feels too tight. “Yeah.”

Louis sighs loudly as he leans forward, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Nialler-“

“I know,” Niall groans, lifting his head. “I know, okay? I shouldn’t have kept it, but I did.”

“Where’d you have it?”

“In the back of my closet,” Niall says. “I put it up at the back of the shelf when we moved his clothes into the one side. But we’ve been wearing some of each others’ shirts lately, and I guess- I don’t know, he wouldn’t talk about it this morning before he left, but it must have fallen down, or something, when he was getting dressed.”

“So- You did try and talk to him, though?”

“Of course I did,” Niall sighs. “We- I- We went on a date yesterday – it was, like, this challenge from Julie, our relationship specialist – and then we came back here and we had a great night and… Everything was perfect last night. Things were so good between us. And then this morning, I- I tried to kiss him, and I tried to get him to stop moving because he was all over the place and he wouldn’t let me touch him, could barely even look at me. So I asked him why, and- That’s when he asked me who the ring was for.”

“What’d you tell him?”

Niall shrugs. “I told him that it wasn’t for anyone. That it was from an old relationship.”

Louis hums. “Bet that made it better.”

“I didn’t know what to say, okay? I didn’t think I’d have to explain it to him.”

Louis cocks an eyebrow. “Because you didn’t think he’d find it? Or because you didn’t think you’d last this long with him?”

“Both, I guess,” Niall mutters, and he hates himself.

Louis is silent, then, for a long time. He sips his beer, looks around — probably takes in the fact that a lot of Harry’s things have made themselves a home among Niall’s things. (That’s what Niall sees, every time he looks around.) And then he sighs, and looks at Niall properly. “How exactly do you feel about him?”

Niall blinks. “I don’t- I don’t know. I don’t know _exactly_.”

“Do you care about him?”

“Yes.”

“Do you _like_ him?”

“Yes.”

“Then, just _talk_ to him, Niall,” Louis says. “ Start treating this like an actual relationship, instead of some sort of project. Start treating him like he’s actually your husband, and just talk to him. Tell him the truth.”

“Yeah,” Niall whispers. A whole new wave of guilt washes over him, and he feels like the worst person in the world.

“You also might want to think about how you feel about him _exactly_ ,” Louis says. “If finding the ring hurt him enough that he didn’t even want to look at you, then he’s probably going to wonder where he stands with you. You should also probably think about that for yourself, too. He obviously has real feelings for you, and I think you owe it to yourself as well to figure out what your feelings are for him.”

Niall nods. Louis is right, as much as it always pains him to admit when Louis is right. Niall has spent the last few weeks with all of his walls up. He’s kept Harry at a distance, he’s kept secrets. He’s been trying so hard to keep things as casual as possible so as to not catch real feelings for Harry – and, as a result, he’s ended up hurting Harry. And it’s about time that he sorts himself out.

“Now, about the cameras I keep seeing everywhere.”

X

He hears the door open from where he’s standing in the living room, and his breath catches in his throat. He takes one more look around the room to make sure that everything is where it’s supposed to be – the wine decanter in the middle of the coffee table, the two empty glasses sitting atop two coasters on either side, the tray of cheese and crackers and fruit, the burning candle that smells like the ocean.

He hears Harry come in. Hears him slip off his shoes and place them in the front hall closet. Hears him lock the door behind himself and turn off the light in the front hall.

And then he whirls around, just as Harry makes to walk right by as though he’s on his way to the bedroom.

“Haz- Harry,” he calls out, and he hates the way his voice shakes.

Harry stops, though, and looks at him. His eyes widen, just a fraction, for a fraction of a second when they settle on the scene Niall has splayed out behind him. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Niall breathes. “How’d it go?” It’s late. Later than Niall had originally expected Harry to be home at. Niall assumes that that’s a good thing.

“It went well,” Harry answers, simply. “I have to go start editing-“

“Okay, but- Can we talk first?” Niall asks, his voices rushed. He’s spent most of the day thinking of the exact, perfect way to tell Harry everything, and he’s afraid that if Harry doesn’t give him the chance now that he’ll lose the courage to do so.

Harry stares at him — and then past him, again.

“I thought you might be hungry, so-“

“The bride and groom offered me food,” Harry says. He looks wary, like he isn’t quite sure what to think.

“Okay,” Niall whispers. “Okay, that’s fine. I can put everything in the fridge. But- Can we still talk, though? Please?”

“Why?” And- There it is. The wariness. Niall doesn’t blame him, though.

“I’d really like to explain. I didn’t do a great job of it this morning, and- I’d like to tell you everything. I’d like to do it properly, if you’ll let me,” Niall says softly. And then he holds his breath, and he waits.

Harry puts his camera bag down a moment later. It’s a small victory, but Niall’s heart leaps just the same. Harry goes on to walk past him, then. He’s quiet as he sits on the furthest cushion on the sofa. Niall makes sure to leave some distance between them as he sits on the cushion next to Harry’s, and then reaches out to fill both of their wine glasses. Harry takes the first sip.

“Her name is Selena,” Niall starts, looking at Harry over the rim of his glass. He takes his own sip and then licks his lips as he leans forward to place his glass back on its coaster. “We met in college. We were friends first- Well, sort of. I was sort of friends with her boyfriend at the time but he was sort of a dick to her and they were on and off for a while before they broke up for what was supposed to be for good. She and I started to hang out, just the two of us, as friends — and then it just sort of happened. We started shagging and then we started dating and- A year later we were both graduated and living together.

“I was- I was gone for her,” he continues. He’s amazed that it doesn’t hurt to talk about it anymore. And he wonders if Harry can tell. “Like, I was proper in love with her. And I wanted to marry her. So I bought a ring and I had this plan and I thought- Thought she was it for me, y’know?

“But I wasn’t it for her. She broke up with me a week before I planned on asking her. I came home from work one day and she’d packed all of her stuff — clothes, jewellery, shoes, books- Everything. She got everything she had into a couple of suitcases and a few boxes. Told me she wasn’t ready, said that I deserved more than her- Better. I thought she was fucking nuts, maybe she was scared or something so I said that but- Then I heard a car pull up and I looked outside and saw her ex in the driver’s seat.

“She wasn’t scared. She just didn’t love me.”

He pauses – and he’s met with silence. Harry’s face looks a bit softer though.

“I was- A mess, after that. A total wreck. Started drinking a lot, shagging a lot of random people, and then I sort of just stopped doing anything except work — that’s why Louis set me up for this. And, honestly- It wasn’t exactly a terrible idea. I may not have been ready for it, at first, but I am now.”

“What’s changed?” Harry asks. He takes another sip from his glass, and then goes back to nursing the glass within his hands.

“Three weeks ago you were a complete stranger. And now I can’t stand the thought of hurting you,” Niall admits softly.

“I felt like shit after you left this morning. I thought I’d ruined your whole day, I thought I’d ruined this whole marriage, I thought- I don’t even know what else I thought, I just know that the thought that I was the reason you looked a little bit heartbroken made me hate myself for it and I don’t ever want to feel that way again. I don’t ever want to see you hurt, Haz. Especially not by me.”

Harry sighs, licks his lips. “I felt like an idiot-“

“You’re not, Harry.”

“I felt like it,” he presses. “I always knew there was an underlying reason for why you’ve been keeping me at a distance, and then I saw the ring and-“

“I’ll get rid of the ring,” Niall tells him.

Harry shakes his head. “That’s not the point.”

Niall shrugs. “I know, but- I want to. There’s no reason to keep holding onto it.”

Harry opens his mouth to say something, and then closes it.

“What?” Niall asks, his voices soft.

“Why _did_ you hold onto it?”

“At first, it was because I had this insane idea that she’d walk back through the door and it would be like nothing had even happened. After a while, it was just more of, like, a security blanket — as strange as that may sound. The thought of getting rid of it made me feel sick. But over the last few weeks, I’d honestly just forgotten about it. I forgot that it was there until you mentioned it this morning. That’s it.”

“So- So you’re not holding onto it because you’re still secretly hoping that she’ll come back?” Harry asks, and Niall hates how small – how nervous – his voice sounds.

“No,” Niall says. “Not even a little bit. Not anymore.”

Harry raises an eyebrow. “And you want to get rid of it _now_ , because..?”

“Because you already have yours.”

Harry blinks as if he’s taken aback. And then, ever so slowly, a smile tugs at his lips. “Smooth.”

Niall smiles back. He reaches for Harry’s hand, wraps his fingers around Harry’s palm and squeezes. “I talked to Louis today. About this- About how I fucked up with the ring. And he told me that I should figure out _exactly_ how I feel about you – for both of our sakes, at this point.”

“Oh,” Harry murmurs, looking down at where they’re hands are clasped together. Niall swears he can feel Harry’s heartbeat in the palm of his hand.

“The truth is- I don’t know what my exact feelings are, right now,” Niall admits. He tugs on Harry’s hand, when Harry tries to turn away- “But, listen- Because here’s what I do know. I like you – a lot. I like that you cry during romantic comedies; I think your clumsiness is endearing; and I love your singing voice, even at 6 o’clock in the morning because you’re basically physically incapable of sleeping in.

“I like how kind you are, even to strangers – and especially to the grumpy old bats we always seem to run into at the market. I like how considerate you are, how outgoing and insightful you are. I like that you try to be more organized than you really are for my sake.

“I like the person you are, Harry. I like the person I’ve come to know. And I like the person _I am_ when I’m with you. I don’t feel lost, I don’t feel lonely, I don’t- I don’t feel bitter, or angry, or anything else I felt before I met you.”

Harry smirks, leans in to press his soft lips against Niall’s. The kiss is brief, but it still brings the butterflies in Niall’s stomach to life. “That sounds pretty exact to me.”

Niall smiles softly, runs his thumb over the smooth top of Harry’s hand. “You know what I mean, though- Yeah?”

Harry nods. “Yeah. Yeah, I get it.”

“I just- I know I’ve been distant,” Niall admits. “I know that – and that hasn’t got anything to do with you. That was all me and, I dunno, trying to protect myself. Or- Not getting my hopes up, or something.”

“I know,” Harry murmurs, squeezing at Niall’s fingers. “I mean- I figured. It’s okay.”

It’s not okay, Niall wants to say. Because while Harry has put everything into their relationship from the minute they said _“I do”,_  Niall has been holding back. He’s been acting like this is just temporary – which, maybe it might be, in the end, because the show’s history has proven that it sometimes is just temporary – while Harry has been treating it like it’s everything he’s ever wanted. Niall hasn’t been fair to Harry, is the thing, but that’s all about to change.

“While we’re being honest, can I tell you something?” Harry asks, his voice soft.

“Yeah,” Niall says, swallowing hard around the lump forming in his throat. “Yes, of course.”

Harry licks his lips – and in that moment, in which Niall’s gaze follows the movement, Niall thinks that he probably could spend the rest of life kissing those lips. “I don’t know what my exact feelings for you are either. I just know that, in the moments before you realize that your walls are down, you make me feel like nobody else has ever made me feel. And I know that when I saw the ring this morning, I- I thought it was over. I thought you had someone else, or that you were waiting for someone else, or something – and I was hurt and I was confused and I didn’t want it to be over.”

Niall shakes his head, shifts his body closer to Harry’s. Their knees are touching, which isn’t much, but it’s still an unspoken comfort. “It’s not,” he whispers. “It’s not over. You’re stuck with me for another five weeks _at least_.”

“Good,” Harry whispers back. He leans in, then, closes the gap between them once more as he curls a hand behind Niall’s neck and brings their lips together. He kisses Niall softly, tenderly. His lips are soft, and his kiss is sweet. And then he deepens it, kisses Niall harder and presses in closer. He shifts on the sofa, swings a leg up and over Niall’s lap to straddle his thighs. He grinds down, smirks against Niall’s lips when the other man moans.

“Thought you had to start editing those wedding photos,” Niall breathes when he pulls back. He reaches for the button on Harry’s trousers, despite the words that just came out of his own mouth.

“I can start tomorrow,” Harry says, fingers tugging at the hem of Niall’s shirt. “’s not like they’ll be asking for them in the next 24 to 48 hours, at least.”

Niall smirks. “No, I guess not.”


	5. One Month-iversary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I just- I want you to know that even though we both thought celebrating a month together was silly, I’m really glad that we’re doing this,” Niall says. 
> 
> Harry laughs. “You’re just excited for your present.” 
> 
> “No,” Niall denies, shaking his head. “No, I- I just like spending time with you, and I’m glad that you’re getting to celebrate an anniversary – and, if I’m being selfish, I’m glad that it didn’t work out with you and whoever he is, because it’s how you’re able to be here. With me.” 
> 
> Harry’s whole face softens, and the smile that graces his lips is ridiculously beautiful as he leans in to press his mouth against Niall’s. “If I’m being honest,” he whispers as he pulls away, “I’m glad too.” 
> 
> “Good,” Niall breathes – and it’s like whatever kind of tension was sitting on his chest just a moment ago has melted away into something more softer, something more comfortable, something warmer and lovelier. “Now, about those gifts-”

[One Month-iversary]

.

.

  
  
Their one month-iversary lands on a Friday. They’ve had plans, set up by producers, to have dinner at one of London’s finest five star restaurants all week – but come Friday, Niall has to bail. He and the lads are in the final leg of finishing the album they’ve been working on in the studio, and they’ve all decided that they couldn’t leave until it’s finished. (Niall was reluctant to agree, but he also knew that it had to be finished.)   
  
Niall apologizes tenfold when he calls Harry to tell him. And then he apologizes some more, via iMessage, because he’s been looking forward to it for days – ever since he got Harry his gifts.   
  
It’s a Thing. An exercise given to them by Julie for their month-iversary. Both of them, Niall and Harry, had thought that celebrating a mere month together sounded ridiculous, because what’s 30 days, right? Except Julie had raised a good point:   
  
_ “Here’s the thing though, lads. Neither of you knew a thing about each other 30 days ago. You didn’t know anything except for what you’d been told about the other. Since then, you’ve gone through some ups and downs, and you’ve worked through everything to get here. You’ve gotten to know each other really, really well. Thirty days might not seem like a lot in the grand scheme of things, and should this marriage work out in the long run, then you might look back on this weekend and still decide that it was a bit much, but- Being together for 30 days, being in a relationship for 30 days with someone who started off as a complete stranger is a huge accomplishment. You both owe it to yourselves to celebrate that kind of…magic.”   
_   
She’d gone on to give them homework in the form of finding, or otherwise acquiring, a gift that they each thought would be meaningful for the other based on what they’ve come to know about each other. A large part of Niall is more excited for the gift exchange than anything else. (Hence why he’s so disappointed that they’ve had to postpone their month-iversay date.)   
  
Even now, as he gathers his things and glances at the clock on the wall above him – it’s just past midnight – he knows that it’s much, much too late to salvage anything tonight. Harry will definitely be in bed by the time he gets home.   
  
“Oi, loverboy,” John calls, and Niall looks over his shoulder at where John and Jake are standing in the doorway. “You sure you don’t want to come out and celebrate with us?”   
  
“I reckon there’s at least one pint with your name on it,” Jake adds.   
  
Niall smirks, but then shakes his head. “Nah, lads. I’m knackered. I’ll take a rain check though, yeah?”   
  
“Knackered,” John hums. “Sure, mate. If knackered means ‘I’m still in the honeymoon phase with my beautiful husband and I’d rather spend time with him even though he’ll be asleep’.”   
  
Niall rolls his eyes, tosses a crumpled up piece of paper at him. “Throw that in the bin on your way out, yeah? And I’ll see you blokes on Monday.”   
  
“Yeah, yeah,” Jake scoffs, despite the smile on his face. “See you Monday.”   
  
Niall smiles, and then winks at him.   
  
“And, hey,” John calls back, one more time on their way out. “Have a good weekend, Horan.”   
  
And, yeah- Niall intends to.   
  
X   
  
The flat is dark, aside from the light that Harry must have left on for him above the stove, when Niall gets home. It’s endearing, the way Harry is always thinking about him like that, and it never fails to make Niall’s heartbeat quicken or to bring a smile to his face. And smile, Niall does, as he kicks off his shoes.   
  
As suspected, when Niall walks into the bedroom, Harry is asleep. The light on his bedside table is still on, though, and the book he started reading just the other day – _The Immortalists_ – is splayed open on the bed by Harry’s hand. He looks adorable; looks peaceful. Looks like he fell asleep trying to wait up for Niall, and the thought of him struggling not to fall asleep while constantly nodding off is enough to tug at Niall’s heartstrings.    
  
Niall checks to make sure the cameras in the room are off, before walking in slowly, and he’s careful not to step in the spots that he knows will creak beneath his feet. He’s careful when he pulls the book out from under Harry’s hand; Harry stirs for a fraction of a second, but remains asleep as Niall places Harry’s old leather bookmark between the pages and then sets it on the bedside table. Then he turns the flashlight on his phone on so that he can turn off the lamp, before carefully making his way around the end of the bed towards his side.   
  
He turns off the flashlight, places his phone on his own bedside table, and then begins to slip out of his clothes. He takes off everything except for his boxer briefs, drops everything into the laundry hamper a few feet away, and then tip-toes back towards the bed. He’s careful as he crawls into bed, is mindful of where the bed dips beneath his weight as he moves. He crawls in behind Harry, molds himself, if only slightly (so as not to wake him), to Harry’s body and curls as arm around his waist.   
  
That’s when Harry stirs. Again. Only this time he wakes up, if only slightly.   
  
“Hi,” Harry whispers, and his voice is rough and groggy already.   
  
“Hi,” Niall whispers back, pressing his lips against the nape of Harry’s neck. He presses the rest of his body closer. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”   
  
“’s okay. Could feel you when you walked in anyway.”   
  
“Oh yeah?”   
  
Harry nods tiredly.   
  
“I’m sorry I’m so late,” Niall apologizes, then – again.   
  
“’s okay,” Harry murmurs. “You’ll make it up to me.” And then he’s quite promptly asleep again.   
  
“Yeah,” Niall murmurs, nuzzling his nose within Harry’s curls. “Yeah, I’ll make it up to you.”   
  
X   
  
Niall isn’t expecting him for another hour, at least, when Harry walks through the door. He’d sent Harry out to the market half an hour ago, knowing that he usually takes ages when left to his own devices (because, for some reason, Harry genuinely enjoys the grocery store). He thought he’d have more time to prepare the array of food he’s got scattered across the kitchen counter.   
  
“What’s this then?”   
  
“Nothing,” Niall says quickly, whirling around. He takes a step forward as Harry steps into the kitchen in an attempt to make himself look bigger to hide the bread and sandwich meats.   
  
“Doesn’t look like nothing,” Harry hums, craning his neck to peer over Niall’s shoulder. “Looks like you’re making sandwiches. And is that a bunch of fruit I see?”   
  
“Here, gimme that,” Niall says, reaching for the paper bag in Harry’s hands, only for Harry to turn away so that Niall can’t get to it. “Haz, hey- Stop being so nosy.”   
  
“But what are they for?”   
  
Niall rolls his eyes, despite the smile on his face. “You’ll see soon enough, pet, just- Gimme that and go shower. You stink.”   
  
The offended look on Harry’s face is just as playful as Niall’s tone. “I do not stink.”   
  
“You do.”   
  
“I smell,” Harry says. “But I do not stink.”   
  
Niall snorts. “You’re an idiot. Please go shower and I promise – I promise – that you’ll see soon enough.”   
  
Harry smirks, folds his arms over his chest. “Is this the part where you make it up to me?”   
  
“Yes.”   
  
X   
  
His stomach is in knots as he pushes the door open. He looks at Harry, then, who’s all wide, curious eyes, and gestures for him to lead the way.   
  
Harry steps through the doorway and then out onto the roof, where the sun is shining so bright that he has to lower his sunglasses from the top of his head down to shield his eyes. Niall follows, lets the door shut softly behind him, as he lowers his own sunglasses. And then he stands back, a bag in each hand – one has their picnic-esque food in it, and the other has Harry’s gifts, and he watches.   
  
He watches Harry look around, watches him breathe in their surroundings. The makeshift canopy set up against the other side of the rooftop entrance, the fairy lights strung up through the canopy even though the sun is out because it’ll be setting in a couple of hours anyway, the sitting area made out of several large cushions and pillows. It’s rather beautiful. So beautiful, in fact, that Niall wishes that he could take credit. And while Harry is taking it all in, Niall keeps watching Harry. Watches the way his eyes – his whole face, really – lights up, watches the smile that Niall has come to adore tug at his lips, watches him set the bag he’s holding, the one with the wine and Niall’s gift in it, on the ground. And then he watches Harry crawl underneath the canopy, watches him roll onto his back and prop himself up on his elbows to look up at Niall with wide, curious, beautiful eyes. It takes Niall’s breath away.   
  
And if he thinks hard enough, then it’s almost as if the camera crew isn’t even with them, watching their every move too. He’s getting used to it, having them around. It can still be incredibly annoying, but he’d getting used to it.   
  
“You did all this?”   
  
Niall nods, shoves his hands into the front pockets of his jeans after he puts his own bags down on the ground next to Harry’s.   
  
“How? When?”   
  
“When you were on your run,” Niall explains.   
  
Harry quirks an eyebrow. “You actually got out of bed before 7 o’clock?”   
  
Niall shrugs. “I told you I’d make it up to you, didn’t I? Had to get an early start.”   
  
“It’s beautiful,” Harry breathes, folding his knees. He leans forward to rest his elbows on top of them, then. “How did you have enough time to pull all this off and make food, though?”   
  
“The building manager owed me a favour for getting an autograph for his daughter a few months back, so he agreed to give me the key,” Niall tells him. “Louis and Eleanor helped set it all up.”   
  
Harry smiles. “Remind me to thank them.”   
  
“You can thank Eleanor, but Louis owes me a few favours too, so- You don’t need to thank him.”   
  
“Let me guess- He still owes you for getting you stuck in this mess with me.”   
  
Niall blinks, taken aback. His stomach lurches, his chest tightens, he can feel the heat rising in his cheeks – and he doesn’t like it. “No, I- That’s not what I meant, I just-“   
  
“I’m kidding,” Harry says, and for a moment his voice sounds urgent as he reaches out for Niall’s hand. He gives a soft tug, until Niall falls to his knees on one of the cushions and then flops onto his side. “I’m just kidding.” He leans in, then, and presses a kiss against Niall’s lips. “I promise.”   
  
“Good,” Niall murmurs, breathing a sigh of relief as he curls an arm around Harry’s waist to pull him back down among the pillows. “And, for the record- I quite like this mess.”   
  
Harry leans forward to brush his nose against Niall’s. “Me too.”   


Niall smiles, runs a hand through Harry’s hair and takes another moment to just stare at him. God, he’s gorgeous.   
  
“Now,” Harry says, pushing himself back up – and if it weren’t for the fantastic view it gives Niall of the way his back muscles flex, even through his t-shirt, Niall might have whined at the loss of Harry’s face being so close to his. “About that food you brought. Can we eat now? Because I’m starving and you promised me food.”   
  
Niall laughs as he, too, leans forward.   
  
X   
  
“So- You’re telling me that you’ve never made it to an anniversary?” Niall asks, one eyebrow raises as he pops a grape into his mouth.   
  
Harry shakes his head. “Not, like- An actual anniversary, by definition.”   
  
Niall couldn’t tell you how long they’ve been talking and eating, except to say that the sun has moved across the sky a considerable amount since they first sat down. He hasn’t been arsed enough to know the time to check his phone, either. If he had to guess, though, he’d say that it’s probably around dinner time which means that it’s been at least four hours that they’ve been munching away, lost in conversation. He didn’t know that they could ever have that much to talk about, if he’s being honest with himself. And he doesn’t know how this particular subject had come up – the fact that none of Harry’s past relationships had ever made it to the one year mark, either.   
  
“How long was your longest relationship?”   
  
“Eleven months and two days,” Harry tells him, and then looks away.   
  
Niall gets a sickly feeling that Harry might be ashamed by that, or something, so he reaches out brush a hand through Harry’s hair in the way he knows Harry likes. He doesn’t want to push the subject, doesn’t want Harry to feel uncomfortable so he just- Waits.   
  
“He’d said that it was never even supposed to last as long as it did, let alone any longer; said he wasn’t ready for that kind of commitment – which, was sort of ironic because he was quite a bit older than me but I was the one, at 18, that wanted to settle down,” Harry explains. He looks thoughtful, for a moment, and then rolls his eyes and leans his head back against the pillow behind him, pressing gently against Niall’s fingers. “I suppose that’s what started the downhill fall I took through a string of bad relationships.”   
  
Niall scratches gently at Harry’s scalp, knocks one of his feet – both of which are already tangled with Harry’s out in front of them – against Harry’s.   
  
“Anyway,” Harry breathes, pushing himself back up so that he’s sitting rather than leaning back with Niall. “This isn’t about my failed anniversaries, I don’t know why I mentioned it. This is about us and our current anniversary – and I dunno about you, but I’m ready to exchange gifts.” He goes about shifting around, then, to grab the bag holding his gifts for Niall – but Niall actually does have something to say, now, so he stops Harry from grabbing the other bag with a hand on his elbow.   
  
“I just- I want you to know that even though we both thought celebrating a month together was silly, I’m really glad that we’re doing this,” Niall says.   
  
Harry laughs. “You’re just excited for your present.”   
  
“No,” Niall denies, shaking his head. “No, I- I just like spending time with you, and I’m glad that you’re getting to celebrate an anniversary – and, if I’m being selfish, I’m glad that it didn’t work out with you and whoever he is, because it’s how you’re able to be here. With me.”   
  
Harry’s whole face softens, and the smile that graces his lips is ridiculously beautiful as he leans in to press his mouth against Niall’s. “If I’m being honest,” he whispers as he pulls away, “I’m glad too.”   
  
“Good,” Niall breathes – and it’s like whatever kind of tension was sitting on his chest just a moment ago has melted away into something more softer, something more comfortable, something warmer and lovelier. “Now, about those gifts-”   
  
“Can I go first?” Harry asks, before Niall can even finish his sentence or reach for the bag with his gifts for Harry.   
  
Niall blinks at his enthusiasm. “Yeah, ‘course.”   
  
Harry smiles, licks as he lips as he sticks one hand into the bag in his lap. “So, I didn’t know how to wrap this which is why I didn’t, but…” he trails off as he pulls out what looks like a fluffy piece of fabric.   
  
Niall is confused for moment, until Harry hands it to him and he gets a closer look. It’s a stuffed teddy bear. In fact, it’s almost an exact copy, on an obviously smaller scale, of the one that Niall had won him in Brighton last weekend. He smiles, despite the confusion he feels once more as he looks up at Harry. “Is this-“   
  
“Supposed to look like the bear you won me, which I gave away? Yes,” Harry laughs. “I- I know the bear was mine, technically, but it’s the first thing I thought of when I saw it at the store and I wanted to give it to you. Well, I kind of wanted us both to have it. To sort of commemorate, you know-“   
  
“Us?” Niall guesses.   
  
Harry nods. A blush dusts over his cheeks as he smiles.   
  
Niall’s heart swells because- “It’s sweet.”   
  
“It’s not too, I dunno, corny?”   
  
“Oh- It’s 100 percent corny, but I really like it.”   
  
“Good,” Harry grins. “Because this is the part where you promise that you aren’t going to mad at me for doing something.”   
  
Niall smiles, holding the bear in his lap. “Promise.”   
  
This time, the thing Harry pulls out of the bag is square-ish. It’s wrapped in brown paper with a simple, yet elegant, blue bow. He bites his bottom lip nervously and he hands the package over to Niall slowly, like it’s fragile – and Niall doesn’t have a clue as to what it could be. He can’t think of anything he might have inadvertently mentioned wanting, nor asked for, let alone anything this big.   
  
He opens it slowly. Tugs at the bow with his fingers until it unravels and he can unwrap the rest of it from around the package. Tears at the brown paper carefully so that he doesn’t rip it to shreds. It looks like a book of some sort, made of black leather-bound material. Actually, it looks like-   
  
A photo album. The front cover is blank, although there is a large space for something – and when Niall opens it, with what feels like his heart lodged up in his throat, it’s to the realization that it isn’t just any old photo album, because it also serves as a sort of scrap book. And it already has photos in it, too.   
  
“Wait, did you-“   
  
“Yes,” Harry says, before Niall even gets the chance to finish the question. “I was raiding the closet for your converse shoes and I couldn’t find them, but I found the box for them and the box, obviously, had all your old photos inside. And I thought- Well, I’m really only good at two things and I thought that giving you an album full of photos of just you would be a bit strange, yeah, so I thought that I’d make you an album for those photos. I know you don’t like to keep anything unless it’s useful or sentimental, somehow, and I figured maybe you just hadn’t found a way to use the photos, so-“ He cuts himself off, then, as if just realizing that he’s spent the last full minute ranting without breathing – and that Niall has only managed to just stare at him. “If it was a bad idea then you can tell me. I’ll undo everything and put all the photos back exactly how I found them-“   
  
“Haz,” Niall murmurs, pushing the album and the stuffed bear to the side in favour of pushing himself up onto his knees to take Harry’s face in his hands. “It’s perfect. You are so perfect, you know that? C’mere.” He kisses Harry softly, and then lets his arms curl around Harry’s neck to hug him. “Thank you.”   
  
“You’re welcome,” Harry whispers into the crook of his neck.   
  
“Ok,” Niall murmurs as he pulls back. “My turn. Well- Your turn. They’re both wrapped,” he says, pausing only to grab the whole bag with Harry’s gifts in it and hand it to the man in question, “so take your pick.”   
  
Harry smiles as he pulls out the large, thin square package.   
  
“Wait, I’m sorry,” Niall says quickly, reaching out to place his hand on Harry’s wrist, to stop him before he can start unwrapping it. “I changed my mind. Open the other one first. Please.”   
  
The way Harry rolls his eyes is playful, and it tugs a bit at Niall’s heartstrings. He puts the large square package back, and pulls out the smaller square box. Then, unlike Niall, he tears apart the brown wrapping paper – like a little kid on Christmas morning. The box is made to hold a ceramic mug; a mug that, according to the picture on the box, says _World’s Best Husband_ in fancy, Old English writing.   
  
Niall stares at Harry staring at it until he can’t take the silence anymore. “I know you probably think that it’s meant to be some sort of joke, but- It’s not,” Niall says, placing his hand on Harry’s knee. “I really couldn’t have picked a better person than you. You’re incredible and you’ve been so patient with me through everything. How they picked us, and put us together and got it so right is beyond me, but I’m really grateful. I know I probably don’t say it enough – or, at all, really – but you really are the best husband a guy like me can ask for.”   
  
Harry’s eyes are wet and his lips are smiling when he finally looks up. “It’s really sweet, Ni,” he murmurs.  “Thank you.”   
  
“Too corny?”   
  
Harry smirks. “The perfect amount of corny,” he laughs. “I love it.”   
  
Niall smiles, strokes his thumb over Harry’s kneecap. “Just wanted you to know that. You can open the other one now. I reckon you’ll like it better.”   
  
“Don’t think that’s possible,” Harry says, setting the mug to the side. Then he grabs the larger package, and makes a show of shaking it like he’s pretending to figure out what’s inside, before tearing apart the wrapping paper. And then he stares in awe at the sight before him; the cover art for Harry’s favourite Fleetwood Mac album, in record form. And it’s signed.   
  
“Okay,” Harry whispers. “It’s possible. How’d you- If you’re about to tell me that you’ve worked with one of them, I swear-“   
  
“No, no- Nothing like that,” Niall says. “I just know a guy who knows a guy who knows a girl.”   
  
“Jesus,” Harry murmurs, and he sounds positively breathless.   
  
“I know it’s your favourite and that you lost your CD, so-“   
  
“You’ve been paying attention.”   
  
Niall nods, licks his lips. “Yeah, of course.”   
  
Harry smiles, “Think _I_ should give _you_ the mug.”   
  
Niall shakes his head – and then Harry is kissing him and pushing him onto his back to kiss him harder, to kiss him more. He all but climbs on top, all but straddles Niall’s waist – despite the camera crew, and Niall wouldn’t even care if he did because he could do this all day. Could snog Harry until his lips are bruised and battered, but-   
  
“Wait,” he breathes, pushing gently against Harry’s chest. “I have one more thing.”   
  
Harry arches a curious eyebrow. “Thought we agreed to two gifts each.”   
  
“We did,” Niall confirms, “but this is more- A gift for the both of us.”   
  
The smirk that tugs at Harry’s lips is sexy, albeit a bit raunchy. “Is it a sex toy? Because-“ he stops talking when Niall fishes his wallet out of his back pocket. And he watches, with bated breath, as Niall pulls out what looks like two concert tickets. “Niall,” he whispers. He swallows, hard, and blinks furiously – like he knows.   
  
Niall smirks when he hands the tickets over, and Harry just about faints. Just about passes out from the lack of oxygen he’s allowing into his body. Because, dead center, in the largest font on the tickets, are the words: Fleetwood Mac.   
  
“You’re joking,” Harry breathes.   
  
“I’m not joking.”   
  
“But it was sold out,” Harry says. And then he blinks, like something has dawned on him. “Unless- When did you get these?”   
  
“Last week,” Niall says. “I paid a mate at Radio One for a pair they were going to give away.”   
  
“I’ll pay you back,” Harry tells him. “I-“   
  
Niall scoffs. “No way. No. It’s a gift.”   
  
“On top of a gift, on top of a gift,” Harry points out.   
  
“You’re not paying me back,” Niall says, rolling his eyes. “And if you even try, I’ll take it to go buy that fancy camera gadget you’ve been saving for myself.”   
  
Harry stares at him for a fraction of a second longer, and then pounces. He pushes Niall back until Niall’s back hits the pillows – and, this time, Harry does swing a leg over Niall’s thighs to straddle his waist. And when he kisses Niall, it’s hard and it’s firm and there’s a purpose to it that Niall feels throughout his whole body. “I,” Harry breathes against Niall’s lips when he pulls back, “am gonna let you do whatever you want to me when we get home.” He makes a point of finishing off his promise with another bruising kiss and a subtle, barely there to the naked eye, grind of his hips, and-   
  
Niall doesn’t want to wait until they get back downstairs. He doesn’t want to wait until the crew have packed up all their film shit downstairs before they can even get started – not that Harry would even mind getting started with all the blokes still in the other room. In fact, with the way his heart is racing, pumping blood straight down to his rapidly hardening dick, Niall isn’t even sure if he _can_ wait. That’s why he pulls his head back, turns his face away from Harry’s – which Harry only uses as an excuse to trail his lips across Niall’s jaw – and looks towards the supervisor behind the main camera. “Oi, lads, would you- You mind if we get some privacy?”   
  
  
  
It takes all of five minutes for the crew to collect the gear they'd brought with them, but in Niall’s opinion that’s five minutes too long when he’s got a lap full of a horny husband and his own stiffy tight against the zipper of his trousers.   



	6. Trust Issues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Did I pass?”
> 
> Harry blinks. “Pass what?”
> 
> “The test you gave me,” Niall says, fingers playing absentmindedly with Harry’s hair. “I should probably be mad, y’know. Actually- I was a little bit mad when I figured it out and I was gonna stay out with him all night just to piss you off, but then I started to miss you, so- I came home.
> 
> “And I’m not mad anymore. I just wanna know if I passed.”
> 
> Harry smiles as he cards a hand through Niall’s hair. He lifts his other hand from it’s position on Niall’s thigh, to touch the tip of his index finger again Niall’s bottom lip. “With flying colours,” he whispers, pressing his lips to Niall’s forehead.

[Trust Issues]

.

.

 

“So, I take it things are going well by the looks of things,” Julie says, eyeing their hands which are clasped together in Niall’s lap.

It’s been another two weeks since they had their month-iversary, and in those two weeks things have been incredibly  _ good _ . Not quite perfect, but really, really good. Even when Niall got sick the weekend that followed their celebration and he’d spent all Friday night, as well as Saturday, acting like he’d had the world’s worst man cold. As it turns out, Niall becomes a big, whiny, needy baby when he’s feeling poorly and yet, if Harry is being honest, he hadn’t minded tending to Niall’s symptoms – from his sore, scratchy throat, which Harry treated by making Niall drink a chamomile tea with a little bit of ginger and honey, to the chills that seemed to seep right down to his bones, which Harry treated by curling up under a blanket on the sofa with Niall. Not one bit.

Come that following Monday morning, Niall had been feeling good as new and had gone to work as if he hadn’t spent most of the weekend on the couch wanting Harry to take care of him. The week had flown by, with Niall in the studio working on yet another artist’s record and Harry’s three photo shoot appointments – two newborn baby appointments, and one family portrait. In the evenings, Niall had watched Harry ‘do his photoshop thing’, whilst helping him decide which photos looked the best for his quickly growing portfolio.

Last weekend had been relatively uneventful. Saturday consisted mostly of housework (and shagging), and shopping for groceries (and shagging). On Sunday, they went to a BBQ that Anne was hosting back in Holmes Chapel. Most of Harry’s family was there, and had Niall not met most of them at the wedding six weeks prior then he would have been twice as nervous as he actually was. Harry’s family is great, though – especially Anne. And Gemma. And Robin, too. That’s what Niall had confessed to Harry on the way back home, anyway.

And now here they are, eight days until Decision Day, after yet another week has more or less flown by, and they’re in the middle of their last couples’ meeting with Julie.

She’s sitting across the room from them, her legs crossed with her hands folded in her lap. She’s smiling as she eyes them up.

Harry smiles back. “Yeah, I’d say so,” he says, before turning to look at his husband. “You?”

Niall nods, a smile tugging at his own lips as well. “Really good.”

“Good,” Julie hums. “Because this is the part where I ask both of you if either of you have any questions or concerns.”

Harry’s brow furrows in confusion. “About what?”

“Anything at all.”

“I don’t have any,” Harry says, and out of the corner of his eye he can see Niall agreeing with him.

“You’re both happy with how things are, then?” Julie asks, as if for one last clarification.

“Yeah,” Niall says softly, smiling as he squeezes, gently, at Harry’s fingers.

Julie smiles back. “Good. I’m glad. And- Not just because I’m the one that paired you two together.” She writes something, then, in the notebook she plucks off the desk beside her.

Harry doesn’t know why, but he’s nervous. Every time he walks into this room, he feels a bit anxious because he’s never quite sure what to expect. He never knows what she’s writing in her notebook, whether it’s good or bad or indifferent. He never knows exactly what she, the trained professional, is thinking until she says it. In fact, the only thing that is only slightly easing the little ball of nerves in the pit of his stomach is the warmth of Niall’s palm against his own. The steady grip that Niall’s calloused fingers have on his hand feels like an anchor, something to hold on to.

“Alright, that’s good. Now, what about trust? Do you two trust each other?”

“Yes, absolutely,” they both say in unison.

Julie nods, licks her lips. “What is it about each other that you trust the most?”

Harry looks at Niall, and Niall looks at Harry, and they both smile before Harry gestures for Niall to go first. He wants to hear what Niall has to say; wants to know why Niall trusts him – and he can’t wait.

“His loyalty,” Niall says. “His devotion. He’s honest, sometimes to a fault.” He laughs, strokes a think over the top of Harry’s hand. And Harry swears that a shiver, a jolt of electricity runs through him. “He’s just unwaveringly trustworthy.”

Julie hums, smiles as she turns to face Harry.

“His heart,” Harry says softly. “It’s always in the right place, even if he doesn’t know it. And for that, I trust his judgment.”

“Alright,” Julie replies, after writing in her notebook once more. “Here’s a simpler question, then. Do you trust each other enough to swap phones? Not for long, just for a couple of hours or so.”

Harry starts to fish his phone out of his pocket almost immediately, but Niall doesn’t.

“Niall?” Julie asks, eyebrows raised curiously.

“I mean- I have no problem giving him my phone if he wants it, because I have nothing to hide. But I have no desire to see his.”

“Do you feel like you’d be invading Harry’s privacy?”

Niall shrugs. “Not if he gives it to me willingly. I just don’t feel the need to have it, or go through it,  _ because _ I trust him.”

“And that’s perfectly okay,” Julie assures them both, looking between them. “That’s great, even. But, just- Just know that this exercise, which you don’t have to do if that’s how you feel, isn’t meant to make it feel like snooping. It’s solely meant to build trust. I do recommend doing it, though. You might be surprised by how good and freeing it can feel. You also don’t have to decide now. You have all week to complete this exercise if you’d like to.

“And, speaking of all week- How are you guys feeling about this being the last weekend before Decision Day? Excited, nervous, unsure? All of the above?”

Harry sees Niall look at him out of the corner of his eye so he, too, turns to look at Niall. And he smiles; feels like his heart could burst when Niall smiles back.

“I feel good about it,” is how Niall responds, then. “I think we both do, right?”

Harry nods, smiles shyly. Can feel the colour rising in his cheeks. Can see how Niall smirks.

Julie smiles too. “Excellent.”

X

There’s something to be said about London in the summertime. Harry loves it. Loves the sun, loves the warmth, loves the smell. Loves walking down the street in the city. And he especially loves having someone to walk with, hand-in-hand.

London is beautiful in the summer, and so is Niall. He reckons, though, that Niall is probably beautiful all year round – and he can’t wait to figure out how.

They’re walking back home, now, having just gotten off the tube after leaving Julie’s office. Niall’s talking about what he wants to make for dinner tonight. It’s a new recipe that he found online, something about chicken and salsa – something that’s going to be delicious, he’s sure, but Harry isn’t really listening to the words. At least, not as much as he’s just listening to Niall’s voice because it’s beautiful and it’s soothing and it’s among Harry’s favourite sounds.

It’s as they’re climbing the front steps, about to enter the building that he hears something else-

“Oi, Nialler!”

The foreign voice makes Niall stop in his tracks, which makes Harry stop too. He follows Niall’s gaze towards what he assumes is the source of the voice: the tallest, broadest-shouldered man he’s ever seen, standing in the middle of the sidewalk with his hands in the pockets of his jeans and a pair of ray bands shielding his eyes from the sun.

“Bressie?” Niall asks, his voice a mixture of surprise and curiosity. “What are you doing here?”

And Harry freezes. Feels his stomach turn over. Because- Bressie.  _ Bressie _ , the bloke Eoghan kept going on about in Ireland. The bloke Niall used to have a thing with, and is now friends with. He shouldn’t be jealous, he knows this, but the bloke is fucking gorgeous. He’s fit. How could Harry possibly not be jealous?

“Hello to you too, Horan,” Bressie laughs.

Niall snorts as he skips back down the three steps, towards where Bressie is standing. “Hey, mate.” And then he gets up on his tip toes, and he hugs Bressie – and Harry sort of hates it. Hates how he can practically see Niall’s body mold into Bressie’s. Hates that he can’t help but count the seconds it takes for Niall to pull away. (Ten. Ten whole, long seconds.)

“What are you doing here?” Niall asks again, this time sounding incredulous.

“A mate of mine got engaged last night,” Bressie replies. “It was a big Thing. You remember Jimmy, yeah?”

“No shit,” Niall smirks. “Mr. Bachelor Forever is getting hitched. You hanging around for the rest of the weekend too, then?”

Bressie shrugs. “Thinkin’ about it,” he says. “Was swinging by here to see if you were home. Think I might see if the old crew wants to get a pint or summat tonight if you’re in – although, word on the street is you’ve barely said a peep now that you’re off the market again.”

“Yeah,” Niall murmurs, scratching at the back of his head. “Um, speaking of- This is Harry,” he says, gesturing to where is stood behind him, still by the door. Then, he looks at Harry as they walk a little closer, the tiniest of smiles tugging at his lips. “Haz, this is Niall Breslin, but everyone calls him Bressie.”

“Pleasure to finally meet you, mate,” Bressie says, stepping forward with his arm stretched and his hand on display.

“Likewise,” Harry says softly, reaching out to shake Bressie’s hand.

“You want to come up?” Niall asks Bressie, then. “We can shoot off some texts and catch up while we wait.

Bressie grins. “Yeah, sure.”

“You don’t mind, right, babes?” Niall asks, glancing back at Harry as he pulls one of the building doors open.

Harry shrugs, swallows hard around the lump that has grown in his throat. “Was just gonna edit some of the photos I took the other day,” he says, falling into step behind Bressie.

Niall smiles, looks at Bressie. “Harry got fired from the studio he worked at for doing the  _ Married at First Sight _ thing. But then he decided to do his own thing and now he’s got his own photography business going on – weddings, babies, family portraits. Had his first engagement photoshoot the other day and- He’s really good.”

Harry can feel the heat rising in his cheeks as Bressie looks back at him – but, still, he could get used to Niall gushing about him. Especially when it comes to gushing to his ex…whatever he is.

“That’s brill, mate,” Bressie says, nodding his head as though he approves of Harry’s choices. “Good for you.”

“Thank you,” Harry murmurs.

And then he’s left to stand there, next to Bressie and Niall, while they wait for the elevator – and while Niall and Bressie begin to catch up.

X

Harry’s only half listening, as he’s still mainly focused on the photographs he’s been editing for the better part of an hour, when the front door opens and Niall and Bressie walk back through it. There’s a pizza box in Bressie’s hand, and a 12-pack of beer in Niall’s; so much for that new recipe Niall wanted to try. (He’d been more than a little bit surprised when Niall had suggested it earlier, to learn that a man that looked as buff and fit as Bressie could get away with eating pizza – much less that he would want to.)

Niall and Bressie are still talking, just as they’d been talking when they left. It sort of makes Harry wonder exactly how long it’s been since Niall has spoken to Bressie.

“So, basically- Nobody can come out tonight,” Niall sighs, setting the case of beer on the kitchen counter next to the fridge. “Just tomorrow night.”

“Bullshite,” Bressie says.

“Well- If you want to stick around tonight, you can sleep on the sofa. Unless you’re staying somewhere else for the time being?”

“The sofa sounds incredible. Much better than spending the night in my car.”

Niall snorts. “Did Jimmy not offer you a sofa?”

“He did me one better and offered me a room, but- I reckon he and the missus will want to spend the rest of the weekend, y’know, celebrating – and I’m not entirely sure I want to risk being a witness to that kind of celebration.”

“Not  _ entirely _ ,” Niall hums, teasing him.

Harry sees Niall roll his eyes, but the smile on his face means that he’s anything but annoyed. Harry is a bit annoyed, though. Because, well- Shouldn’t Niall have asked Harry if it was alright if Bressie spent the night? Shouldn’t that be a decision that they make  _ together _ ? They’re  _ there _ now, aren’t they?

Then, to Harry’s surprise, he sees Bressie lean in close to Niall’s ear out of the corner of his eye, and Harry can just barely hear Bressie’s voice when he whispers, “You think Harry is alright with it?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

Harry looks up just in time to see Niall look at him, and it’s in that moment that Niall must realize why Harry might not be okay with it, why Harry is definitely a little bit wary of it. And then Niall nods, as if to say that it’ll be okay, and, well- Harry would rather Bressie not know about his insecurities or jealous tendencies, which is why he finds himself saying, “The sofa is yours, mate. I might go to bed early tonight too, seeing as I have that breakfast date with Liam tomorrow. So you guys can have the living room to yourselves, if you want.”

Bressie grins. “Thanks, mate. I have to wee, if you’ll excuse me.”

As Bressie disappears down the hall, Niall approaches where Harry is sitting on the sofa. He squeezes Harry’s shoulders once, gently, and then folds his arms across Harry’s chest and bends down to rest his chin in the crook of Harry’s neck. “I’m sorry,” Niall whispers, pressing a kiss to Harry’s jaw. “I’m an idiot, and I’m sorry.”

“’s okay,” Harry murmurs, letting his head fall back against the couch cushion.

Niall sighs, nuzzling his nose against Harry’s skin. “You sure? I can get him to see if someone else-“

“It’s fine, Ni,” Harry assures him gently. “I promise. Just- Don’t stay up too late tonight, is all I ask.”

Niall smiles against his neck. “Deal.”

X

He’s almost asleep when he hears the door open, followed by the telltale sound of Niall’s bare feet shuffling across the floor. The flashlight on Niall’s mobile is the only source light in the room as Niall tiptoes around the across the room, around the bed to his side. He’s quiet, as far as Harry can tell, there isn’t a single sound coming from the living room either.

He rolls over, watches Niall place his phone on the bedside table, face up and light down. Watches Niall’s silhouette as he strips. And, god, he wishes he had his camera.

“Yeah,” Niall murmurs, laughing softly as he climbs into the bed. “Because you don’t already have more than enough photos of me for your wank bank,” he teases.

“Can’t ever have too many photos of someone who looks like you,” Harry whispers, and his voice sounds tired even to his own ears.

“Sap,” Niall hums, dipping in to press their lips together softly. Then he moves in closer, curls an arm around Harry’s waist, sighs as he presses his forehead against Harry’s. “What are you still doing awake, anyway?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” Harry yawns. “’s weird, coming to bed without you.”

“There you go again with that sappiness,” Niall teases.

“Anywayyy,” Harry says softly, dragging out the last syllable. “How’s Bressie?”

Niall snorts. “I gave him a couple extra pillows and a throw blanket, so he’s happy as a pig in shit.”

“Hmm.”

“Anywayyy,” Niall whispers, pressing in impossibly closer. “I can think of about a million things I’d rather do with you than talk about Bressie.”

Harry giggles, rolls with it as Niall coaxes him into rolling onto his back. “Isn’t he staying here so that he doesn’t have to hear two people have sex in another room?”

“I mean- Technically he’s staying here so that he doesn’t have to stay in his car. But if you don’t want to have sex with me, then-“

“Didn’t say that,” Harry says quickly, running one hand down Niall’s torso. His fingertips trail down Niall’s stomach, through the little patch of hair that is his happy trail until he can wrap his fingers around Niall’s dick.

The moan that escapes Niall’s lips is sinful, and all Harry wants to hear – all he can think about – is more.

X

“Maybe I shouldn’t go.”

Liam, his most trustworthy friend and ex-roommate, raises an eyebrow at him. He’s sitting across from Harry, and he’s chewing so his response is a little bit delayed, but Harry knows what he’s going to say before he even says it. “Why wouldn’t you? Especially if his ex-whatever is going to be there?”

Harry shrugs as he pushes his food around on his plate. “Julie wanted us to do this trust exercise with our phones where we, like, swap them for a couple hours to show that we trust each other, but neither of us feels like we have to so we haven’t,” he explains. “And, I dunno, letting him go out and get a bit drunk with his friends and his ex-boyfriend, or whatever he is, seems like a good alternative.”

“So, wait,” Liam says around a mouthful of toasted bread before he swallows. “Let me get this straight. Yesterday you didn’t feel like you needed to do any sort of trust exercise, but now that this Bressie bloke is here you do?”

“I don’t  _ need _ to, I just-“

“You’re just going to test him without telling him,” Liam concludes. “That’s a terrible idea, mate.”

“Well I can’t exactly tell him,” Harry points out. “And, anyway, it’s got just as much to do with me as it does him.”

“It’s still a terrible idea.”

Harry sighs, runs a hand through his hair as he sits back in his chair. “I know,” he mutters. “I know- But I don’t really want to go out with them and spend the whole time being jealous either.”

“You’d rather spend the whole time being alone and paranoid, then?”

“That’s just it though, yeah? It’s a test for me too, to see if I can keep myself from being paranoid?”

“And when you can’t?” Liam asks.

“I’d rather be paranoid and not him ever find out, than know that he’ll be able to tell if I’m jealous.”

Liam stares at him over the rim of his coffee mug. Then, even as he puts the mug down, he stares as though he’s considering Harry carefully.

“What?” Harry asks.

“It really is a terrible idea, mate.”

X

“Are you sure you don’t want to come?” Niall asks, carding a hand through Harry’s hair, whilst Harry stares at the computer screen in front of him. 

“Yeah, no- You guys go,” Harry says, tilting his head back just enough to look up at Niall. “Have fun. ‘m not really feeling it. Plus- I have so many photos to edit and I’m a bit worried that if I don’t start now I won’t be finished in time.”

Niall smirks. “Remember when you thought you wouldn’t really get anywhere on your own?”

Harry hums. 

“And remember when I told you that I believed in you?”

Harry smiles, nods gently.

“I still do,” Niall says, as he continues to play with Harry’s hair. “Believe in you, I mean.”

“Sap. How many beers have you had already?”

Niall rolls his eyes, leans down to press a kiss against Harry’s lips. “One,” he murmurs. “And a half.” He continues to kiss Harry, softly and yet simultaneously eagerly. He runs a hand down the side of Harry’s face, trickles his fingertips over Harry’s Adam’s apple before dipping his fingers beneath the collar of Harry’s shirt. He forgets, for a moment, what they’re supposed to be doing.

That is, until a voice cracks through the silence as Bressie comes waltzing into the living room. “Right, Laura’s downstairs if- Oh. Sorry.”

Niall gasps a little as he pulls his mouth away from Harry’s. “No apologies necessary,” he says, pushing himself back. “You ready?”

“Yeah. You?”

“Yeah,” Niall says, clearing his throat. “Last chance, Haz. I-“

“ _ Go _ ,” Harry insists, throwing an arm out to wave him away. “Have fun.”

“Alright, alright- We’re going,” Niall laughs. “Lock the door behind me.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

There’s something about Harry’s voice. Something off. Something that doesn’t quite sit right with Niall as he and Bressie make their way towards the elevator. But he gets on the elevator anyway, because he knows that even if he went back to ask Harry about it that Harry wouldn’t tell him.

X

He figures it out about an hour later. Knows why Harry had been off earlier. And, honestly, it sort of makes his blood boil.

He thought they’d moved past that; past the Bressie Thing. He thought that Harry understood. He thought they trusted each other.

Part of him wants to call Harry, to confront him. Part of him wants to yell. Mostly, though, he just wants to prove that he can be trusted.

So, instead, he accepts the shot that Laura brings him and Bressie and keeps his phone deep within the confines of his pocket. (All. Night. Long.)

X

Hanging out with Bressie and their old crew of Irish misfits living in London feels just like old times. It’s fun, it’s light-hearted, it’s loud. It’s entertaining. It’s one of those things that you don’t realize that you miss it until you’re experiencing it again. And Niall does miss it; he misses the times they all had, he misses the brotherhood this crew provided him when he was younger, misses the havoc they used to wreak.

But as much as this time feels just like an old time, it also sort of feels like there’s something missing. Or, rather, some _ one _ . That someone isn’t someone from an old time, though. It’s- Well, it’s Harry.

He misses Harry. (Even if he is still sort of angry at him.)

And, for some reason, missing Harry plays a big part in Niall following Bressie to the loo when the bloke asks if he has to wee. He doesn’t have to wee, but he could use a moment of being almost alone so that he can gather his thoughts.

And that’s probably why he doesn’t see it coming, the way Bressie leans in to kiss him, until it’s almost too late.

“Brez,” Niall murmurs, pushing back against his chest. Bressie’s lips are close to his, but he turns his head manages to dodge them so that they press against his cheek  instead. “C’mon, man- I’m married.”

Bressie snorts. “I mean, for  _ now _ .”

Niall blinks, taken aback as he slips out from in between the wall he’d been leaning against, and Bressie’s frame. “I mean- Hopefully for good.”

Bressie shakes his head as he turns around to look at him. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do, though, Bressie.”

“Oh come- It’s hardly even a real marriage. You’ve known him for less than two months.”

“It  _ is _ real,” Niall tells him. “Everything about it is real. Why are you- What are you going on about?” he asks, because he doesn’t get it. Bressie has been supportive. He’s been nice to Harry. He’s one of the kindest people that Niall has ever met – and Niall doesn’t understand where this sudden change of heart is coming from.

“Do you- Don’t you think you should keep your options open?” Bressie asks. “Find someone you want to marry, not someone you got stuck with? Someone-“

“Someone like you?” Niall asks, because now he does get it. This whole night has felt just like old times for both of them. It’s just that, for Bressie, it’s for entirely different reasons.

Bressie shrugs, and then casts his gaze towards the ground. In this moment, he doesn’t look like the massive ex-rugby player that he is. In this moment, he looks small and uncertain and…a little bit heartbroken, maybe. Suddenly it makes sense as to why Eoghan was so adamant on Niall telling Bressie about Harry.

“I wanted you once,” Niall finds himself whispering. “Remember?”

“You were 17. And I was too old for you, then-“

“You were also married, Brez.”

Bressie scoffs. “Yes, and look how well that turned out for me. Should’ve run away with you after all.”

Niall shakes his head. “Nah. You had a good marriage, while it lasted. Besides- We make pretty good mates, don’t we?”

“So...it’s Harry, then.”

Niall nods. He feels a smile tug as his lips and, self-consciously, he hopes it isn’t too much. “It’s Harry,” he whispers. There’s a confidence in his tone that surprises him, but only momentarily. After that, all he feels in his chest is something light, something warm, something intense. “Marrying him was the craziest thing I’ve ever done, but- It’s also the  _ best _ thing I’ve ever done. I’m- I’m falling in love with him, Brez. I- I’m sorry.”

Bressie shakes his head, shoves his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. “Don’t apologize for having feelings, Horan. I’m just- I’m the one who should be sorry-”

“Don’t,” Niall says softly, stepping forward to place a hand on Bressie’s shoulder.

“I should be, though. I shouldn’t have tried to kiss you, and I definitely shouldn’t have tried to downplay your relationship with Harry just because I- Just because I’m a mess.”

“You’ll be fine, mate,” Niall assures him. “I promise. And if you should believe anyone, it should be me.”

“I know.”

Niall smiles. “You’ll always be the first person I ever really loved. I’ll always care about you. And I’ll always be your friend. Any time you want to talk, or go for a pint whenever one of us is in town, or – or whatever, I’ll always be your friend.”

Bressie’s smile is watery, but it’s genuine nonetheless. “I know.”

X

Niall stumbles through the door, and all but lands flat on his arse in the process. If anyone were to ask, namely Harry, then he’d blame the shoes Harry left in the middle of the front hall. He kicks his shoes off lazily, leaves them scattered alongside Harry’s on the carpet, and drops his keys in the bowl; they clang, and Niall winces, makes a mental note to replace the glass bowl with a plastic one, or something like it.

He isn’t expecting Harry to still be awake but to his pleasant surprise, Harry is still very much awake – and he’s looking at Niall as if he’s grown another head.

“You’re home early.”

“I missed you,” Niall says, sauntering across the room to where Harry’s sitting on the sofa.

Harry snorts. “Yeah, right.”

“I did,” Niall insists, draping himself over Harry’s lap as he wraps his arms around Harry’s neck. “I missed you and I spent a lotta time wishing you were there. So I came here instead.”

Harry hums, kisses him softly. “Where’s Bressie?”

“He’s gonna stay with Laura tonight.”

“Oh? How come?”

Niall groans. “No offense, babe, but I don’t wanna talk about Bressie.”

Harry smirks. “Then- What  _ do _ you want to talk about?”

“Did I pass?”

Harry blinks. “Pass what?”

“The test you gave me,” Niall says, fingers playing absentmindedly with Harry’s hair. “I should probably be mad, y’know. Actually- I was a little bit mad when I figured it out and I was gonna stay out with him all night just to piss you off, but then I started to miss you, so- I came home.

“And I’m not mad anymore. I just wanna know if I passed.”

Harry smiles as he cards a hand through Niall’s hair. He lifts his other hand from it’s position on Niall’s thigh, to touch the tip of his index finger again Niall’s bottom lip. “With flying colours,” he whispers, pressing his lips to Niall’s forehead.

“Is that it, then?” Niall finds himself asking. “Is whatever jealousy you had over Bressie over?”

“Yeah,” Harry nods. “Yes.”

“Good,” Niall murmurs. “Because there isn’t a reason for it. I don’t want Bressie. I want  _ you _ , and if that’s not enough, then-“

“It’s enough,” Harry says. “I’m sorry that I tested you without your permission, but- It’s more than enough.”

Niall nods, and then kisses him softly before promptly requesting that Harry take Niall to bed.


	7. Decision Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You know- Everyone seems to think that it’s gonna be different after tomorrow. Like it’s somehow going to be more real — but it’s already real. The reality of it is that tomorrow is just a formality.”
> 
> John nods, like he gets it. And maybe he doesn’t, exactly, but perhaps he does. Jake shrugs, but smiles nonetheless.
> 
> ”I don’t know how they got it so bloody right with him and I, but- They did.“
> 
> John raises a curious eyebrow. “Would you call him your soulmate?”
> 
> “Dunno that I believe in soulmates, but- I’d say he’s pretty damn close.”
> 
> Jake fake gags, but then a laugh erupts when Niall stretches a leg out to kick him. “You know, mate, you were never this mushy about Selena,” he says, after catching his breath and fending Niall off.
> 
> “Yeah, well,” Niall trails off with a shrug. “I never knew that it could feel this way.”

[Decision Day]

.

.

 

The Rolling Stones explodes from within the inside of his shorts’ pocket at the exact moment that the bell above the lift dings. He fishes his phone out of his pocket as the doors are opening, and glances down to see his mother’s face smiling back at him as the occupants of the elevator file off one-by-one. Someone steps into his bubble, then, and he’s about to apologize when his gaze collides with that set of the most beautiful blue eyes he’s ever seen.

“Morning,” Niall greets him, leaning in to capture Harry’s lips in his. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Harry murmurs, his lips ghosting against Niall’s before they pull apart.

“Who’s that?”

“It’s my mum. I’ll call her back-“

“Nonsense,” Niall says, leaning in one more time to place a quick peck against Harry’s cheek. “I’m late for work anyway. I’ll see you after, yeah?”

Harry barely gets a change to say ‘yes’ before Niall whirls around and jogs out the front door. He has to laugh, though, because that’s just like Niall to sleep in as late as possible – but then still wind up running late. He stands there and watches, for a moment, until even Niall’s shadow on the ground is no longer visible. And then, not only does his phone stop ringing – but the doors in front of him close and the lift starts moving.

So, while he waits for the next trip, he rings back his mother.

“That was fast,” Anne laughs in his ear, seconds later.

“Yeah, sorry,” Harry says, smiling softly as he leans back against the wall opposite the lift. “I was coming back from a run and then Niall came off the lift and, sort of, distracted me.”

“Silly boys,” Anne teases. Her voice is laced with pure adoration, and even though she can’t see him, and nobody is paying attention, Harry finds himself blushing. “So this is it, huh?”

“What’s it?”

“Niall. Niall is _it_.”

Harry smiles. “Yeah. Yeah, he is.”

“You’re ready for tomorrow, then?” Anne asks, and Harry can hear the smile in her voice.

“It might sound absolutely insane, mum, but- I’ve been ready for weeks,” Harry admits. And somehow – because it’s not like he’s been hiding it – it’s like a weight has been lifted from his shoulders.

“I know, darling,” Anne says softly. “Can I tell you something?”

Harry nods even though she can’t see him, and swallows hard around the lump in his throat. “Yeah, anything.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you like this, and it warms my heart.”

“Like what?” he asks.

Meanwhile, the lift has come back down. The doors open, and Harry watches sort of subconsciously as a couple of people walk  off.

“I just mean- I’ve heard you sound happy before, of course. And I’ve seen you look happy, too, but there’s something different about this,” she explains. “You don’t just sound happy, you sound...lighter, freer. You sound like how I’ve always hoped that you would sound someday, when you met the right person.”

Harry swears his heart skips a beat. “Are you saying that you think Niall is the right person?”

“I don’t think anyone else would ever compare.”

“Yeah,” Harry breathes. “Me too.”

“I’m so happy for you, love. I’m so, so happy.”

“Thanks, mum. And- Thank you for supporting me with this.”

“Oh, my darling,” she cooes. “What else is a mother to do? I’ll always support you. Even if your answer tomorrow was going to be no, I would- Well, I would disagree but I would support you, still.”

Harry’s chest feels all kinds of…bit, like his heart has swelled, taking up so much room in his chest that it makes it hard for him to breathe. “I love you.”

“And I love you.”

X

“There he is!” Jake yells upon Niall rushing through the door. A pen nearly collides with Niall’s face, before hitting the door as it closes behind him. “Nice of you to grace us with your presence, finally.”

Niall snorts, drops his bag into one of the chairs in front of one of multiple tables with hundreds of buttons on it. “Arse.”

“Is that why you’re late?” John asks, twirling around his own chair. There’s a pen sticking out of his mouth like a cigarette, and a stupid grin on his face when Niall looks at him.

Niall raises an eyebrow. “Why do you have it in your head that all Harry and I do is fuck each other in the ass?”

“I mean- Don't you?”

“We cuddle _a lot_ ,” Niall says, smirking only slightly. “He’s like a cat.”

“Says the hugger,” John teases.

Jake plops into the chair between Niall’s and John’s. “Tomorrow’s the _day_ , isn’t it?”

Niall nods. “Yes it is.”

“How do you feel?” Jake asks.

“How do you think you’ll feel _tomorrow_?” John asks.

Niall shrugs as he, too, plops down into his chair. He leans back, crosses one ankle over his opposite knee and joins his hands behind his head. “You know- Everyone seems to think that it’s gonna be different after tomorrow. Like it’s somehow going to be more real — but it’s already real. The reality of it is that tomorrow is just a formality.”

John nods, like he gets it. And maybe he doesn’t, exactly, but perhaps he does. Jake shrugs, but smiles nonetheless.

”I don’t know how they got it so bloody right with him and I, but- They did.“

John raises a curious eyebrow. “Would you call him your soulmate?”

“Dunno that I believe in soulmates, but- I’d say he’s pretty damn close.”

Jake fake gags, but then a laugh erupts when Niall stretches a leg out to kick him. “You know, mate, you were never this mushy about Selena,” he says, after catching his breath and fending Niall off.

“Yeah, well,” Niall trails off with a shrug. “I never knew that it could feel this way.”

“That _what_ could feel this way?” John asks, although the look on his face makes it seem like he knows exactly what Niall means.”

Niall smiles softly. “Being in love, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Jake and John say simultaneously.

X

Harry smiles when he hears the door open, feels his heart skip a beat in his chest.

“I swear- That was the longest lift ride of me life,” Niall breathes as he barrels through the doorway. “And of course I have to wee like a motherfucker.”

Harry laughs as he steps forward to take the things out of Niall’s hands: his bag, his keys, his phone. He places everything on the counter, and then resumes stirring the gravy mix in the pot on the stove. It feels like any other evening, like any other time that Niall has come through the door in a rush to get to the toilet, and yet- Something about it feels a little bit more… Special.

“Smells good, babes,” Niall says, a few minutes later, as he walks back into the kitchen. “What’s on the menu today, Chef Styles?”

“I’ve always wanted to try what the Canadians call poutine, so- Poutine,” Harry responds cheekily.

“Interesting,” Niall hums, hooking his chin over Harry’s shoulder. “How was your day?”

Harry smiles. “It was great, actually. I booked two more appointments.”

“Oh yeah? What for?”

“An engagement shoot Wednesday afternoon, and a family portrait on Friday but I haven’t solidified a timeframe yet. They have to get back to me, since I told them I wasn’t available Saturday.”

“Look at me for a second,” Niall tells him softly. And then, as Harry looks at him, he leans in to kiss him. His lips are soft, but his kiss is softer. “You know I’m proud of you, right?”

Harry smiles, can feel the blush radiating in his cheeks. “I know. Anyway- How was your day?”

“It was good,” Niall nods. “We got a lot done today, which is good. Arrangements and that. Actually- I may have also helped write a song?”

“What?!” Harry yelps. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Niall says, rubbing at the back of his neck. “She was struggling with a couple of the lyrics and I sort of accidentally said what I thought would sound better out loud. And she liked it, so- Yeah.” He exhales a long, drawn-out breath.

“That’s incredible, Ni,” Harry murmurs, pressing his lips against Niall’s cheek. “Oh my god.”

Niall shrugs. “I mean- It’s not that big of a deal-“

“Are you kidding? Niall- This could open so many doors for you. This is awesome.”

“Ok, alright- Enough,” Niall laughs. “Let’s not jinx it, yeah?”

“Yeah, alright. Help set the table, would ya?”

Niall smirks, mutters, “bossy, bossy”, but does as he’s told anyway.

Sometime after – Harry has lost track of the time, honestly, they’re both lounging across the sofa in the living room. Football is on on the telly in the background, but even Niall is only half watching because there’s a Scrabble board in the middle of the coffee table and Niall is winning.

“I’m gonna get some water,” Niall announces after he takes his turn. “You want a glass?”

Harry smiles up at him and gives a simple nod of his head.

“Don’t cheat.”

Harry scoffs, albeit playfully. “I _don’t_ cheat.”

Niall makes a show of telling that he’s watching him silently, before disappearing into the kitchen.

Harry leans forward, then, to take a sip of his wine while he waits, because he isn’t a cheater — and that’s when it happens.

Niall’s mobile vibrates on the coffee table, right in his line of vision, and Harry only has a split second to decide whether or not he’s going to peek. He shouldn’t, really, because he trusts Niall and Niall hasn’t given him any reason to even want to peek. Nothing has changed since last weekend, after all. And yet-

‘ _Bressie_ ’, is the first thing he sees. And his stomach plummets, feels a bit ill. And then:

_Next time I’m in town I promise I won’t try to kiss you._

The words glare back him until the word ‘kiss’ becomes a foreign language, until his stomach churns and he feels like he could throw up. Did Bressie...really try to kiss Niall? _When_ did Bressie try to kiss Niall? And if so, why didn’t Niall tell him about it?

He stuffs himself back into the couch when he hears Niall enter the room again. Niall’s carrying the bag of Harry’s favourite popcorn, cooked in coconut oil, and two glasses of water. He hands Harry one glass, and places the bag in the space between them as he sits back down. “You better not have cheated.”

Harry watches Niall reach for his phone. Watches the corners of his mouth twitch into a smirk as he replies. He’d thought that he couldn’t possibly feel worse than he feels right now, and yet-

“Did Bressie try to kiss you?”

Niall blinks. He looks taken aback when he turns to look at Harry, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “What?”

Harry licks his lips. “Bressie- Did he try to kiss you?

“Did you...read my phone?”

“I didn’t intend to, but it was right there,” Harry admits. He feels small, all of a sudden. “And I saw ‘Bressie’, so- Did he?”

Niall sighs. “Yes.” It’s like a punch to the stomach.

“When?”

“Last weekend.”

“Right,” Harry mutters, and his voice is cold. His whole body feels cold. “Of course he did.”

“Nothing happened, Harry.”

The man in question pushes himself to his feet. He feels a little bit too fidgety to sit down, and a little bit too sick to be next to Niall. “Bullshit.”

“He _tried_ to kiss me, but I didn’t let him,” Niall explains, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Nothing happened.”

“Him trying to kiss you is enough of a something.”

Niall sighs, again. “Harry-“

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he demands, folding his arms across his chest.

“Because nothing actually happened, Harry. I didn’t think it mattered.”

“Well it _does_ matter!” Harry finds himself shouting, like the emotions in him – the hurt, the betrayal, the sadness – are so desperate to get out that they’re _loud_. “Of course it matters!”

Niall shakes his head, like he doesn’t get it. “It only matters if you don’t trust me.”

Harry rolls his eyes. Can’t believe the words coming out of Niall’s mouth.

“You say that you trust me, but you don’t,” Niall mutters. “You mustn’t. Not if you can’t even trust me around my friend.”

“It’s Bressie I don’t trust,” Harry admits. “And evidently for good reason.”

“That’s bullshit.”

Harry raises an eyebrow, sceptical. “So you’re telling me that if Xander were to suddenly show up and want to spend all kinds of time with me, and try to kiss me, that you’d be okay with it?”

“Yeah, I would. Because I trust that you’re over him and that it wouldn’t mean anything.”

“You must be some kind of saint, then.”

Niall stares at him, eyes wide and disbelieving. He sort of looks the way Harry feels, honestly. He licks his lips, runs a hand through his hair. “Why are you doing this?” he asks, his voice barely a whisper. “Why are you picking this fight with me? Why _now_?”

“Because I only just found out _now_ ,” Harry snaps.

“You know what I mean, Harry.”

And Harry doesn’t know what kind of answer he’s looking for, so he shakes his head and stays silent.

And then Niall laughs, bitterly. “You know- I expected this from me. I expected that I would be the one to have some sort of meltdown over some misplaced fear. But I never expected _you_ to be the one run away.”

“I’m not running away,” Harry sighs. “I just-“

“Then what the fuck is this, Harry? What the fuck is happening right now?”

“What’s happening is that you should have told me.”

“Why? So that you could’ve freaked out last weekend over something that doesn’t even matter?”

“It matters to me, Niall. It matters that someone you trust tried to kiss you knowing that you’re with me. And it matters that you clearly didn’t trust me enough to tell me-“

“Don’t,” Niall snaps, eyes hard. “Don’t turn your trust issues around on me. The only reason I didn’t tell you is that it legitimately did not matter to me. I came home to you, that night. I left before anyone else left because I wanted to be with you. Nothing else mattered.

“I know that I was shit at the beginning. I know that I had issues, and I know that I wasn’t a good husband- But I’ve been trying to make it up to you. I’ve been trying to be better for you, and if that’s not enough... I don’t know what else you want me to do, Harry.”

And, well- Harry doesn’t know either. He’s sad, he’s angry, he’s hurt, he’s- Is he overreacting, like Niall seems to think he is?

“I can’t be with you if you don’t trust me,” Niall whispers. “I’ve worked through my shit, and I thought you’d worked through yours. But I can’t do this without trust. I can’t. So- You either trust me or you don’t. You either trust me enough for this to work, or it’s over.”

Harry blinks, taken aback. _Over_ ? Is that what this has come to? Already? Is that what _Niall_ wants?

“I’ll take that as a ‘no’, then,” Niall mutters – and then he’s on the move.

Harry doesn’t know what’s happening, doesn’t know where they stand right now. But he does know that he doesn’t want Niall to leave. Not now. “Niall-“ tries, just as Niall’s grabbing his keys out of the bowl next to the front door, having already shoved his feet into a pair of shoes that could be considered his or Harry’s, at this point.

Niall ignores him, though, and practically throws himself through the doorway.

Harry flinches when the door slams shut. And then his feet are moving before he thinks about his next move. He calls out for Niall, yells his name from the doorway – but Niall is already gone.

And, suddenly, Harry feels like he can’t breathe. It’s like his lungs are collapsing, or something- His rib cage, maybe. His heart is beating too fast, so hard that he can feel it in his temples. He feels dizzy. He finds his phone in the living room, on the table next to where Niall’s had been, and dials the only number he’s ever known by heart-

“Gemma,” he sobs, breathing hard. “Gem, I fucked up.”

X

“So,” Louis drawls as he walks back out onto the patio, a beer bottle in each hand. The sky is dark, but the patio is lit up by little lanterns and fairy lights. It’s peaceful out here, in Louis’ backyard. Almost, at least. “Here’s what I got from that, Horan. You accused Harry of running away, and then you _actually_ ran away. That’s what I got from that.”

“I couldn’t stay there,” Niall mutters, taking one of the bottles from Louis. “I couldn’t look at him knowing how little he trusts me.”

Louis sits in the chair across from him. “It’s not about you, though, is it?”

“It is about me. It wouldn’t have been as big of a deal as it was if it wasn’t actually about me.”

Louis shrugs, takes a sip from his bottle. “Okay, well- Either way, he’s right. You should’ve told him, mate.”

Niall groans, and slouches back into his chair. “I know. I know, but- Bressie was just drunk, and he was lonely. I think he’s taking his divorce harder than he’ll admit, and I was just — there. I was there, and I was probably familiar to him, and he wasn’t thinking straight. He backed off when I told him I’m in love with Harry. And I didn’t- I honestly didn’t think it would matter.”

“You know how Harry is, though.”

“I know,” Niall murmurs. “I don’t even- I don’t even know what happened or how it escalated. One minute everything was fine and the next it’s like the place was caving in and I... I had to get out.”

Louis tilts his head. “Then you know what you have to do now, yeah?”

Niall blinks.

“You go back,” Louis starts, leaning forward, “you apologize for not telling him, you both make a pact to trust each other more, and-“

“No, if I- If I go back now, we won’t actually talk about it. I’ll walk in, I’ll apologize, he’ll apologize and then we’ll shag and it’ll get swept under the rug. It won’t fix anything.”

“Then call him.”

Niall hesitates. He could, is the thing. But Harry could just as easily ignore his call and, honestly, Niall isn’t sure that he can handle that sort of rejection right now.

“You have to do something, Niall. You can’t stay here.”

“That’s fucking rude,” Niall mutters, rolling his eyes.

“Go home, Niall. Talk to your husband.”

X

“Don’t you think you should go home?” Liam asks. His voice is soft, but his intention is clear as he watches Harry from across the kitchen table.

Harry has left the flat mere minutes after he’d gotten off the phone with Gemma; Gemma, who had tried to calm him down and had succeeded – until Harry had hung up the phone. After ending the call, he’d felt sort of- Out of place. Like he didn’t belong there, without Niall. And then a fear that Niall wouldn’t want him when he returned had struck him and, well- Now here is, moping about in Liam’s kitchen and waiting for his phone to ring. “No,” he whispers.

“Why not?”

“Because he probably wouldn’t want me there.”

“I don’t believe that,” Liam tells him, reaching a hand out to squeeze gently at Harry’s shoulder.

“You didn’t see his face before he left,” Harry points out; logically, he thinks. “It was like he didn’t even want to look at me, let alone be in the same room as me. I can’t go back to that.”

Liam sighs. “So- He was angry, Harry. But so were you.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t leave him there.”

“You’re both really, really terrible at this whole communicating thing,” Liam says. He says it the way one would say a well-known fact, with confidence in his delivery. And he’s not exactly wrong, so perhaps it is, in fact, a _fact_. (Or, perhaps, factual adjacent.)

Harry shrugs. “It’s been a little difficult communicating with him with all the walls he’s kept up to keep me out, Liam.”

“Except that he’s been lowering them, hasn’t he? He’s been trying.”

“Yeah,” Harry whispers. And then he groans. “I just- I don’t know what to _do_ , Liam. I barely even know what happened. And what if- What if this just means that we aren’t as compatible as we think we are.”

“Harry,” Liam murmurs. “Even the most compatible people on earth have their off days. Couples argue, sometimes. It’s fine.”

“It doesn’t feel fine.”

“So then go home, Harry,” Liam says, trying to urge him once more. “Talk to your husband.”

Harry shakes his head. He isn’t sure that he can physically make himself. He also isn’t sure that he could handle it emotionally if he did go back and it turned out that he was right about Niall not wanting him there anymore.

“Why not?”

“Because maybe we just need some time apart,” Harry mutters. They have, after all, been living out of each other’s pockets for the last eight weeks. Maybe it’s been too much. And maybe this is the fallout. Maybe they both just need to sleep on it. “Maybe we both just need to calm down, and try again tomorrow.” (Preferably with Julie, and perhaps with the other therapists and relationship experts, for Decision Day.)

X

The flat is dark when he returns. Not a single light is on. Nor is there a single sound. It’s dead silent, almost eerily so. Yet, still, Niall checks the sofa in the living room and he checks the bedroom; he checks for any sign of Harry still being there – but there isn’t any. Harry isn’t anywhere.

And that- That makes him feel even worse. That makes him feel like shit. It makes him feel like the worst husband in the world. He ran away because he couldn’t handle his own emotions, and in doing so he’s pushed Harry away. He’s made Harry feel like he has to leave. And it makes him feel sick, makes his stomach churn and his chest tighten. It makes him feel physically ill, to think that Harry might think that Niall doesn’t want him.

He tries to call, then. Stands in the front hall, staring at the spot on the floor where Harry’s boots should be, and he waits for Harry to pick up. He prepares himself to beg for Harry to come home so that they can talk – even if it is well after midnight. But his call goes to voicemail. And he doesn’t bother to leave a message; doesn’t think he could get the words out now anyway. He knows that Harry probably went to talk things out with Liam. And he tries to tell himself that Harry probably just fell asleep, that he didn’t purposely ignore Niall’s call. But not even his own voice inside his own head sounds very convincing.

He leans against the wall as he ends the call because his knees feel weak. And then he lets himself fall, allows his body to slide down the wall until he’s sitting on the floor with his legs bent in front of him and his head hanging down between his shoulders.

X

The closer it gets to when the cameras will start rolling – current wait time: five minutes – the more anxious Harry feels.

He’s ready. He’s been through hair and makeup, he’s picked a simple, black suit off of one of the racks in the dressing room, and he’s ready.

Except that he isn’t ready at all. And he won’t be ready until Niall comes through those doors.

He’d waited outside of the studio for as long as the production team would let him, before the hair and makeup ladies had all but forced him to enter the building and sit in their big, red chair. And then he’d waited outside of the dressing room, just in case Niall had come in while Harry was in hair and makeup and was just wandering around. Now he’s waiting side stage, among the camera crew (some of whom he recognizes from having followed him around for the last several months) and the producers.

He waits. And waits. And waits. With his heart in throat and his stomach in his chest. With sweaty palms and shaky hands. With nerves on edge, shaking him to his core. And he waits.

A minute goes by. And the another. When the third minute ends, Harry has half a mind to just – run away. A fourth minute ends, and he thinks about finding the nearest trashcan to vomit into.

The fifth minute, though, is by far the hardest.

X

Niall sits in his car outside the studio. And he sits. And he sits. And he tries to make himself move. He tries to talk himself into getting out of the car and marching into the building to have a calm, rational discussion with Harry before the cameras start rolling.

But then he thinks about Harry saying no. He thinks about Harry rejecting him. He thinks about Harry finally admitting that he can do better than Niall, that he deserves better than Niall.

And, once again, it feels like the space around him in is closing in. Like the air in the car is too thick. Like the space in his chest is too small. And he can’t do it. He can’t put himself through that kind of pain.

So, he puts his foot down on the break, forces the car into ‘drive’, and then- Goes. Leaves. Drives away.

And it’s not until he parks, back in his spot outside of his building, that he realizes that he’s been crying.


	8. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hi,” Harry mutters. He smiles, but it seems forced. Even as he takes a few steps closer, it seems like he really has to put effort into it. It’s like he doesn’t want to be here, and that thought alone makes Niall feel a little weary.
> 
> “Hi. What- What brings you here?” His voices sounds breathy, like he’s still trying to figure out how to breathe again.
> 
> Harry lifts the envelope in his hands, and- And that’s the first time that Niall notices it. And, suddenly, Niall knows. “I need you to sign the papers.”
> 
> Niall blinks. Licks his lips. Swallows hard around the lump in his throat. His mouth feels like sandpaper, his chest feels entirely too tight, and- And, oh. Fuck.
> 
> “You’ve been busy and it’s been slipping your mind,” Harry says, placing the envelope on the counter at the front desk. “Sort of like the rest of our relationship, and that’s fine. But I’m going on a date tonight and I’d prefer that I don’t have to lie to him about my relationship status, so- I brought you a copy to sign. You just have to sign it, Niall. I’ll take care of the rest.”

[Epilogue]

.

.

 

It starts on Twitter:

 _@NiallOfficial_ _how could you hurt harry like that?_

 _@NiallOfficial_ _The least you could’ve done was show up and tell Harry that you didn’t want to be with him anymore in person. Shame on you._

 _@NiallOfficial_ _what the fuck is wrong with you? why would you do that??_

 _@NiallOfficial_ _everything you said was a lie huh? asshole_

 _@NiallOfficial_ _I can’t believe I ever thought you were perfect for someone like Harry._

 _@NiallOfficial_ _you’re a coward AND a piece of shit._

Then, the tabloids ring in:

_‘Married at First Sight' star Niall Horan skips Decision Day, pisses off a nation_

_M@FS star blasted on twitter by fans_

_Niall Horan: heartbroken or heartbreaker?_

_Niall (w)Horan caught canoodling with dark-haired mystery man_

_You ask, we answer: is Niall Horan a commitment-phobe  or a good old-fashioned asshole?_

X

Niall looks out the window as he pulls into his parking space and puts his car in park, and he hates what he sees. Dozens of paparazzi, cameras blocking their faces, flash after flash after flash. It’s insane. It literally looks, and sounds, like insanity out there. Everyone trying to get their money shot, shouting his name, trying to get a reaction – or at the very least, a statement – out of him.

It’s been this way for days. Since the last episode – the Decision Day episode – aired.

It had started on Twitter, with his mobile blowing up with hundreds of notifications halfway through the episode. Then, mere hours after the episode had ended, the tabloids had started to spit out article after article, after article. And it hasn’t stopped. He’s since had to turn off his notifications on his mobile. Unfortunately, however, there isn’t any way for him to avoid the paps now that they know his car.

He hates it. And he hates, even more, that he deserves it.

He checks the rear view mirror, sees what looks like a bloody mob outside the gate to the parking lot, and sighs as he closes his eyes, rests his head back against the head rest. He inhales through his nose deeply, and then exhales slowly. Inhales deep, and exhales slow. Inhales; exhales.

A knock at the window startles him – so much so that he just about jumps out of his skin. The laugh that follows, though – John’s laugh, makes the ball in his chest feel a little less tight. “Give a bloke a heart attack, why don’t ya?” Niall teases after rolling the window down.

“Sorry,” John snorts, leaning forward to fold his arms over the door. “Just figured you could use an escort.”

“I think the last thing I need is an escort, mate.”

John rolls his eyes, but smiles regardless. “You want a bodyguard or not?”

“Bodyguard? Niall laughs. “You’re not that much bigger than me.”

“Yeah, well- You got slim pickings around here, so shut your gob and get out of the car.”

Niall shakes his head as he undoes his seatbelt. He reaches for his back in the passenger seat, lets john open the for him, and then steps out. The yelling and the clicking of all the cameras pointed in their direction somehow gets louder, then. More aggressive. More desperate, really.

The distance between the car and the side door they’ll use to get into the building isn’t far by any means – except that it is. And Niall walks, with his baseball cap pulled down as far as it’ll sit on his head and a pair of sunglasses (in a vain attempt to avoid letting those pricks get a photo of his face) as quickly as he can. And John, for his part, actually does pretend to be his bodyguard – much to the paparazzi’s distain _and_ amusement.

“How long, you reckon, until they get bored of ya?” Jake asks, twirling around in his chair at the exact moment that they walk through the door.

“When someone else fucks up,” Niall says.

“Bunch of dicks, them,” John comments.

Niall rolls his eyes. “Tell me about it.” He drops his bag onto the floor next to his chair, then, before all but falling into the chair itself. He sags into it, stretches his legs out in front of him.

It’s like clockwork, lately. He wakes up, and paps are hanging out on the ground outside of his living room window. He leaves his parking garage, because taking the tube these days is next to impossible, and there are paps in cars waiting to follow him. He arrives at the studio, and there are paps lined up along the gate surrounding the parking lot. He’s at work, all day long, and there are paps that hang out outside the studio for a slight chance of Niall leaving the building before the work day is over. He leaves the studio, and there are paps that follow him home.

It feels like some sort of never-ending cycle.

He can’t wait for it to end. And, right now, he’d love nothing more than to just- Throw himself into work for the day. Just like every other day.

X

He can’t get the lighting right. Or the angles. Or the colours, or the contrast, or- Anything, really. He can’t do anything right. He can’t _get_ anything right. Nothing he does works, no matter how hard he tries. It’s like-

It’s like he’s lost it. It’s like he’s lost his ability to find inspiration.

“These are pretty solid, mate,” Liam says, leaning back into the sofa cushion after having just gone through Harry’s latest photoshoot pictures. “I dunno what you’re complaining about.”

Harry groans, running a hand through his hair. “I mean, yeah- They’re good. But they aren’t, like, what makes them _mine_ , you know?”

“And what makes them yours, exactly?”

Harry sighs. “I- It’s hard to explain. But it’s like a signature,” he tries. “Artists have a signature style, singers and musicians have signature styles, and photographers – well, some of us, have- It’s just something that makes sense. Am _I_ making sense?”

“Mostly,” Liam nods. “I wish I knew what to say, mate.”

Harry smiles, a bit numbly, as he leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees.

It’s been weeks. Weeks, since he’s had proper inspiration. Weeks, since he’s felt like he knows what he’s doing; since he’s felt confident in himself. It’s also been weeks since he’s even seen Niall and, well, not even Harry is naïve enough to ignore the connection.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters. “It probably seems ridiculous.”

“Mate-“

“They’re fine,” Harry says. “They’re good. I shouldn’t complain, I just- I think I’ve gone mad, honestly.”

“You’ve not gone mad, Harry,” Liam tells him, reaching a hand out to pat Harry’s shoulder. “You’ve gotten your heart broken.”

Harry nods, frowns as he, too, leans back against the back of the sofa. “Yeah.”

He’s not just gotten his heart broken, though. It feels more his heart got ripped out of his body, and then stomped on – and then thrown out into the street and run over by a truck. It’s like the rug had been pulled out from beneath him and he’d fallen so hard that the impact he’d made with the proverbial floor had bruised every inch of his brokenly beating heart. And, sometimes, it feels like he’s still falling in the worst, worst way.

After leaving the studio five weeks ago, he’d come to Liam’s. He’d been an absolute mess. Crying, sniffling, gasping for air between sobs, wiping away snot with the sleeve of his jumper, babbling away but not making any sense. And Liam, bless his heart, had put up with all of it whilst making tea for Harry to calm him down and preparing a biscuit for Harry because he hadn’t eaten anything all day. He’d fallen asleep on the couch shortly after, emotional exhaustion having taken over.

And he’s been here ever since.

“Has he signed the papers yet?” Liam asks, pulling him out of his thoughts.

Harry shakes his head. “No. He’s probably too busy bringing home strangers to remember that he’s stuck them to his fridge, or summat.”

Liam snorts. “How bitter of you.”

“I can be more bitter,” Harry shrugs. “Like, I can say that he’s probably actually not bringing home strangers because he only does that when he’s really torn up and heartbroken.”

“Or,” Liam, the only level-headed one of the two, starts to counter, “he hasn’t signed them because he doesn’t know how to tell you that he wants another chance.”

“Not bloody likely,” Harry murmurs. “Besides, I think I’m gonna take Jeff up on his offer.”

Liam raises an eyebrow. “If he the one that has asked you to dinner twice a week over the last few weeks?”

“He asked three times this week.”

“Does he know about Niall?”

“No, he doesn’t pay attention to all that…stuff,” Harry says. “I don’t even think he has social media. I just- I’d kind of like to have actually started the divorce process _before_ I go on a date with him – or anyone.”

Liam hums. “You could always try getting Niall to sign the papers in person.”

Harry blinks, and then stares at Liam because- It’s not something he’s ever thought about doing before. Mostly, he thinks, because he’s been too anxious about it to consider the idea.

X

“So,” Jake drawls, after the waitress has delivered all three of their pints to the booth.

Niall is avoiding having to go home. Going home means going being alone, and being alone means thinking too much, and thinking too much means hating himself. Plus, it’s just…lonely, still. He doesn’t like being home alone – at least, not anymore. Not since Harry had quite literally moved into his life.

Both Jake and John know exactly why he asked them out for a round after work, and both of them are nice enough not to keep their thoughts to themselves.

“Hmm?” Niall hums, before taking a sip.

“Have you figured out what to say to Harry?”

Niall shakes head, casts his gaze down towards his pint and watches the bubbles pop in the foam.

John groans, “Mate-“

“I know,” Niall mutters. “He just- Seems pretty adamant about wanting me to sign those papers, so, I mean- If he’s not interested-“

“Ni-allllll,” Jake moans, tipping his head back against the booth wall behind him. “Being a little chicken shit is what got things like this in the first place. Don’t be a chicken shit.”

And, yeah- Niall knows that. He knows that his fear got the best of him, and he knows that it’s that fear – and that fear alone, not Harry or Harry’s jealousy or Harry’s insecurities – that mucked things up. And he also knows that the most ironic part in the whole thing is that, in the end and despite his claim otherwise – _“You know- I expected this from me. I expected that I would be the one to have some sort of meltdown over some misplaced fear. But I never expected you to be the one run away.”_ – he had actually been the one to run away, not Harry.

“Was it worth it?” John asks, then.

Niall’s brow furrows in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Is what you’re feeling now worth how you felt with Harry?”

“Yeah,” Niall finds himself saying without even thinking.

“Would you do it again?”

“Yeah,” Niall breathes. And - There’s his answer.

“Well, there’s your answer then,” Jake says. “Yeah?”

X

He stares at his mobile. And stares. And takes a sip of his wine. And stares.

Liam has since gone into work for his overnight shift and Harry has done absolutely nothing but sit on his arse, drink wine and eat cheese and watch reruns of _Friends_ for the last few hours. And he’s just confident enough now, liquid courage and all that, to text Jeff and take him up on the date he’s been asking about for weeks.

Harry hadn’t been in the right head space, or heart space, to say yes, at first. He’d been terribly heartbroken after Niall hadn’t shown up on Decision Day – so much so that it had quite literally taken three days for him to get out of bed for anything more than a wee, a glass of wine, or what little bit of food he felt like he could eat. So when he’d met Jeff at Nick’s place a couple of days later, solely because Nick had more or less forced him to, he hadn’t been ready for Jeff to hit on him, much less for Jeff to ask him out to dinner, just the two of them. Nor has he been ready the week after. Nor the week after that.

He hadn’t realized until after the last time Jeff had asked him, just four days ago, that one main reason he’s been saying ‘no’ is because he’d been hoping that Niall would- Well, he’d been hoping that he’d be able to just chuck the divorce papers. Only that seems to be going absolutely nowhere, and he can’t keep waiting around – mentally or emotionally.

So- He’s going to take Jeff up on his dinner date, and he’s going to have a good time, and he’s going to get over Niall Horan. No matter how long it takes.

He finished off his glass of wine, and then grabs his mobile to unlock it.

_Hey, Jeff. It’s Harry. I’d like to take you up on that offer, if you’re still up for it._

A response comes less than a minute mater, and it sort of makes his heart flutter a little bit.

_Of course I’m still up for it ;)_

X

Niall lies awake, staring at the ceiling. Sleep is hard to come by, these days. At least- Good sleep is hard to come by. It’s hard to fall asleep, it’s hard to stay asleep. It’s even hard to wake up, and takes way more energy that it feels like it should for him to climb out of bed in the morning. Sleep, as a concept, is just hard.

The first few days were hell. He’d slept an approximate  total of six hours over the course of the first 72 hours. He couldn’t figure out why, at first. He’s a great sleeper, is the thing. Could fall asleep anywhere and at any time. But then he’d woken up one morning and he’d instinctively reached out for Harry’s body, had wanted nothing more than to curl himself against Harry’s warmth- And that’s when he’d realized why he’d been having so much trouble.

It wasn’t because he’d had a pint of Guinness too close to bed, and it wasn’t because he was sleeping with the window open- It’s because he misses Harry. Because he longs for Harry’s presence, for his warmth, for his humour and his laughter and his smile. He’s longed for _Harry_. It’s because he’d gotten so used to Harry filling up not just every crevice of his life, but every inch of his bed as well. It’s because he’d been sleeping better with Harry beside him than he had in, well, years.

_He misses Harry._

Rolling over onto his side, he stares at his mobile instead of at the ceiling. And stares. And bites at his bottom lip. And stares.

And then he reaches out, grabs his mobile and uses his thumb to unlock it. His thumb hovers over the telephone app, then, as he wills himself to just- Call. It’s not that hard – literally. All it takes is the touch of a finger over Harry’s name next to the picture of his smiling face.

It’s just- It would be hard to actually talk to Harry, is the thing. What does he say? Where does he start? Does he just get straight to it, or should he beg Harry to come over first? What if Harry doesn’t answer? Or, worse, what if Harry answers but he doesn’t want to come over? What if he doesn’t want to talk at all?

Then, he looks at the time. It’s well past midnight. And he knows that even if he did call, that Harry would already be asleep.  At least- That’s what he tells himself, before pressing the button to turn off the screen and setting his mobile back down on the table.

X

When Jake had told him that there was a bloke waiting for him at the front entrance, the last person Niall had expected to see was Harry standing by the doors. Harry, with his hair all mussed and his bright green eyes and his dark pink lips. Harry, with his broad shoulders and his long legs. Harry, in all his beauty.

Niall’s breath catches in his throat as he rounds the corner from the hallway leading down to his studio space. He freezes, mid-step, and- Stares. If his mother were here, she’d tell him to close his mouth before he catches a fly.

“Haz,” he breathes, finally. The sound of his voice must startle the beautiful man in question, because his shoulders twitch as he turns his head in Niall’s direction, having not noticed him there before. “Harry, hey.”

“Hi,” Harry mutters. He smiles, but it seems forced. Even as he takes a few steps closer, it seems like he really has to put effort into it. It’s like he doesn’t want to be here, and that thought alone makes Niall feel a little weary.

“Hi. What- What brings you here?” His voices sounds breathy, like he’s still trying to figure out how to breathe again.

Harry lifts the envelope in his hands, and- And that’s the first time that Niall notices it. And, suddenly, Niall knows. “I need you to sign the papers.”

Niall blinks. Licks his lips. Swallows hard around the lump in his throat. His mouth feels like sandpaper, his chest feels entirely too tight, and- And, oh. Fuck.

“You’ve been busy and it’s been slipping your mind,” Harry says, placing the envelope on the counter at the front desk. “Sort of like the rest of our relationship, and that’s fine. But I’m going on a date tonight and I’d prefer that I don’t have to lie to him about my relationship status, so- I brought you a copy to sign. You just have to sign it, Niall.  I’ll take care of the rest.”

“Okay,” Niall mutters. Even as he reaches for the envelope, though, there’s a voice in the back of his head that yells at him to just tell Harry the truth. It yells at him to stop being so damn scared of being in love. It yells at him. “So- A date, huh? Who’s the lucky bloke?” he asks, for no other reason than to silence the voice, despite the fact that he dreads the answer.

Harry stares at him for a moment, before looking away. “He’s one of Nick’s friends.” He looks down at the ground, where he’s digging the toe of his right shoe against the hardwood floor.

Niall nods. Turns his body to hide the way his hand shakes as he reaches for a pen. “Have you met him before?”

“Once or twice.”

“Where are you going?” Niall asks, even though he doesn’t want to know the answer to that either.

“We haven’t decided yet.”

Niall’s hand continues to shake as it hovers over the paper. His only excuse to not sign the papers now would be to tell Harry the truth. But he can’t do that. Not now. It’s too late now. Harry has made his decision, and there’s nothing Niall can do to change it. It would be utterly selfish for him continue to refuse Harry the only thing there is left to give him.

“I found a few shirts of yours in the back of my closet, by the way,” Niall says, more to distract himself than anything. “I can bring them by later, if you’d like. Like- Before you go on your date.”

“I won’t be home before my date,” Harry tells him. Weeks ago, Niall would have asked for an elaboration. But he doesn’t have that luxury anymore, so all he can do is nod. “But Liam will be, so you can leave them with him.”

“Oh,” Niall mutters. “Okay. Yeah. Sounds ace.” He signs his name quickly. It looks like a scribble more than a signature, messier than his normal signature. But it’s there, in dark blue ink, glaring up at him like it’s his darkest mistake. He stares at it for a moment, before he looks away and slides the paper across the counter. He can’t look at it anymore, can’t even stomach the sight of his own name – all ugly and foreign.

“Thanks,” Harry whispers. He reaches out, then, to grab the paper off the desk. Niall only just catches a glimpse at the way Harry’s hands quiver as he struggles to get the sheets back into the envelope they came in.

Niall forces himself to nod, pushes the sight of Harry’s hand quivering out of his head. It’s a struggle, to remind himself that this is what Harry wants, but he tries anyway.

“I’m sorry, by the way. For all of _that_ ,” he says, glancing back towards the door – beyond the door, “out there.”

Niall’s mind substitutes ‘paps’ for ‘all of that’, and he shrugs. “Thanks.”

Harry hovers, even after he’s closed the envelope. He forces a smile, and for a moment Niall thinks that he’d going to say something witty, but then- “Bye,” is the only he says. It’s the only thing left to say, really.

“Bye,” Niall whispers back. There’s no ‘see you around’, because the likelihood of that is slim; they don’t run in the same circle. There’s no ‘have a nice life’ because, well- Mostly because Niall is pretty sure that if he opens his mouth again he’s going to sob.

Then Niall watches him leave. Watches the glass door close behind him, watches him get further and further away. And he wants to chase after Harry, wants to tell Harry that this is a huge mistake, wants to apologize for not trying before — but his legs won’t move. And what’s the point, anyway, if Harry is as detached as he seems?

In fact, the only place his legs will carry him is back into the studio, which is where Jake and John are waiting for him. They look hopeful; all wide, curious eyes – that droop and dim the moment they see Niall. John looks torn between standing where he is and rushing forward to collect Niall in his arms. Jake, for his part, looks torn between wanting to hug Niall and rushing out the door.

Niall plasters a fake smile to lips as he grabs the closest guitar he can get his hands on. “Let’s get back to work, lads, shall we?”

X

Niall has only been here once before, and it was to pick up some more of Harry’s clothes. So it’s only natural, he supposes – and probably ironic – that the only reason he’s here now is drop off some more of Harry’s clothing.

Liam buzzes him up, tells him that the door is unlocked and urges him to walk in. Niall hesitates, though, when he reaches the door. Thinks about just leaving the shirts, all neatly folded, on the floor in front of the door. Maybe Liam will wonder what’s taking him so long and he’ll find them before Harry gets home from his date – _if_ Harry gets home from his date. But that little voice, the one that had been screaming at him earlier this afternoon, urges him to stay and he doesn’t know why he listens, but he does. And, as he opens the door, he immediately regrets it; the whole flat fucking smells like Harry- Or, it smells like one of Harry’s favourite scented candles – black cherry – and that’s just as bad as actually smelling like _Harry_.

It brings the butterflies in Niall’s stomach to life, makes something twist almost painfully in his chest. Black cherry is what Niall’s flat had smelled like on an almost constant basis for the entire time Harry had been living with Niall.

“Hey,” Liam says, as he walks down the hall to where Niall’s standing somewhere between the living room and the kitchen. He looks like he’s been working out, joggers hung low on his hips as he pulls a shirt on over his broad shoulders to cover his washboard abs.

“Hey,” Niall breathes.  “Uh- Here.”

“Thanks,” Liam says, taking the shirts only to drape then over the arm of the sofa. “You want a drink or somethin’?”

Niall shakes his head. “Nah, mate. I’m not gonna stay.”

Liam raises an eyebrow as he pulls open the refrigerator door. “Not even for a beer?” he asks, pulling out two bottles. “No offence, mate, but it looks like you could use one. Could play a bit of FIFA too.”

Niall’s first thought, of course, is to say ‘no’ and then get the fuck out of here. But then he pauses, and he remembers that Harry is on a bloody date with some random bloke he barely knows – and he shrugs because- Why the fuck not? What’s really stopping him?

 

 

“Can I ask you something?” Liam asks half an hour later. They’ve finished several rounds of FIFA already, and Niall is on his second beer, courtesy of Liam.

And- There it is. The real reason Liam asked him to stay. It wasn’t because Niall looked like he could use a drink. It was merely because Liam wanted to have Niall alone to interrogate him.

“Why’d you sign the papers at all, if you didn’t want to?”

Niall takes a long sip of his beer. “How do you know I didn’t want to?”

Liam makes a show of rolling his eyes as he sets his controller on the coffee table in front of him. “If you wanted to, why didn’t you just sign them a month ago?”

Niall pauses; hesitates. He thinks about lying. Thinks about putting on a show. But it’s a Friday night, and Niall is having a beer with his soon to be ex-husband’ best friend while playing FIFA when all he was supposed to do was return a few shirts, and he’s pretty sure that Liam can see right through him anyway. “I was hoping he’d change his mind,” he admits.

“Why did you sign them today, then?”

“Because he clearly still wanted me to.”

“Except that he didn’t.”

“Except that he did, Liam,” Niall argues, even though his heart stutter within the confines of his chest. “He literally showed up at my workplace and demanded that I sign them so he can go on a proper date tonight.”

Liam laughs, sort of unbelievingly, as he shakes his head. “You’re both so bloody stupid, mate. He wanted you to refuse it to his face. He wanted you to finally just tell him how you felt instead of putting it off. He wanted you to fight for him.”

Niall stares, for a moment. And stares. “If that’s true, then why couldn’t he just tell me that?”

“I reckon he’s about as scared of rejection as you are.”

And, well- Shit. That’s probably true. And if it is true, then perhaps it just proves how wrong they actually truly are for each other. Because, how can two people be so afraid of the same thing and make it work?

“Well- It’s too late now,” Niall mutters. “I’ve signed them, and he’s-“

“It might be too late to save the marriage you already had, but it’s not too late to get him back,” Liam says, pausing to take a sip of his own beer. “Just ask me where he’s gone.”

Niall raises an eyebrow. “You really think I’ve still got a shot?” he asks. He tries not to sound too hopeful. Tries to keep his voice level and his tone neutral. Tries to keep his heart from running away with the hopes he’s hidden away in his soul.

“He’s at the cafe he loves,” Liam tells him. “The one with the-“

“Chandeliers,” Niall finishes for him, setting his beer bottle on the coaster Liam had thrown at him to keep him from damaging the table below. Then he pushes himself to his feet, wipes his clammy hands on his thighs. “Thanks, mate. I owe you.”

X

Niall barely puts his car in park before he’s rushing into the coffee shop. He looks around, scans the place as quickly as he can to check that Harry is still here. That’s when he finds Harry, sitting at a table at the back of the café, beneath the prettiest chandelier the shop owns. Harry looks just as beautiful now as he’d looked earlier, but somehow it’s more painful now, with another man sitting across from him. Niall can only see the profile of the bloke, but he knows that he’s never seen him before. He’d known that he wouldn’t, and yet he isn’t sure if the confirmation of it makes him feel better or…worse.

He’s on the move, then. Rushing towards the table, weaving between others, until he’s standing right beside theirs. Right between them, though his gaze in trained on Harry and Harry alone. “Hey.”

Harry blinks up at him, shocked. Taken aback. His brows furrow in confusion, as he pushes himself to his feet. “N-Niall. What- What are you doing here?”

“I need to talk to you,” Niall says softly. He taps a knuckle against the table, nervous.

“I’m- Kind of in the middle of something.”

“I know,” Niall breathes. “I know, but- Liam told me that it isn’t too late, and I have to at least try.”

Harry looks even more confused than before. “Liam?”

The _date_ moves to stand up as well. “Hey, listen- The man clearly isn’t interested, mate. So back off, yeah?”

“First of all, I’m not your mate,” Niall counters, although he keeps his gaze on Harry. “Second- This has nothing to do with you, so if you wouldn’t mind just keeping quiet then that’d be lovely.”

“Niall,” Harry starts, his voice a bit shaky.

“Please, Haz. Please just- Listen. You don’t even have to say anything, I just- I just need you to know a few things — and then I’ll leave. Please.”

Harry swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing visibly. He looks behind Niall, at his _date_ , and nods – and then, to Niall’s surprise, the date sits back down and Niall only just barely holds back a smirk. “You have five minutes,” Harry says.

“Okay,” Niall whisper, licking his lips. “I’m an idiot. I should’ve done more to keep you. I should’ve done more for _us_ . I should’ve been a better husband- I _wish_ I’d been a better husband.

“And I should’ve shown up for you, on Decision Day,” he continues, because it seems that the dams have broken and his walls have come crashing down. “I should’ve been there. I should’ve fought for us. But I was scared and I was insecure, and I let that get the best of me and that’s why I didn’t go. Not because I didn’t want you, not because I didn’t want to be with you. Just- I was terrified.

“And I wanted to reach out sooner. I wanted to call you, to explain myself- I wanted to, but I was scared that you wouldn’t want me anymore after the way I treated you. I actually thought you wouldn’t. I thought that maybe you’d finally realized that you were too good for me, and I convinced myself that that’s why _you_ weren’t calling _me_.

“Then I got the papers and I swear, Harry- I sat on the sofa and stared at the damn envelope for a solid hour before I managed to talk myself into opening it. And seeing that you’d already signed them, that all I had to do was jot down my signature, it- That hurt. I knew I didn’t have much of a chance, after that, but I still couldn’t bring myself to sign them because I didn’t _want_ to.”

Harry shakes his head, folds his arms over his chest. “Then why did you sign them today, instead of telling me all that when I went to see you?”

“Because you said that you needed me to,” Niall admits. “And then you said that you were going on a date, and I thought- I thought it was over. I thought I was too late, so-“

“So you gave up.”

Niall shrugs. “I wanted to give you a chance to be happy-“

“I _was_ happy!” Harry shouts. And, if Niall’s entrance and interruption hadn’t already gained the attention of everyone in the café, then Harry’s outburst does. Every head turns, visibly, to look in their direction, but Harry doesn’t seem to care- “I was happy with _you_. And then I got a little bit jealous of a bloke you used to fancy yourself in love with, and you acted like that was some sort of betrayal. Being jealous of him had nothing to do with whether or not I trusted you — because I did trust you. You were just too stubborn to see that because you were too busy thinking that I was trying to ask you to choose. And do you want to know what the worst part is? I didn’t even ask and yet you still chose him.”

“I didn’t choose him,” Niall argues.

“You did, Niall. And even if you didn’t, you sure as hell didn’t choose me.”

Niall blinks, incredulous – because he can’t believe that _that’s_ what Harry thought. “Well- I’m here now. I’m choosing you now-“

Harry shakes his head. “It’s too late, Niall.”

“Bullshit,” Niall mutters, taking a step towards his husband. “Liam told me, you know. He told me that the real reason you brought me the papers was because you wanted me to fight for you — not because you needed to tell your date that you were single. So unless you’re trying to tell me that that’s changed in the last few hours, that’s bullshit.”

Harry frowns. “You had your chance. You had a months’ worth of chances.”

“I know. I know, but- I’m here now.”

“Why weren’t you _then_?”

“Because I was scared,” Niall whispers, taking another step closer. He’s thankful that Harry doesn’t move away from him, even if he is still closed off.

“Scared of what?” Harry sighs, his gaze flickering from one of Niall’s eyes to the others. It’s like he’s trying to find the truth in Niall’s eyes before Niall even has the chance to say it.

“Of losing you for good.”

Harry blinks as he looks away. Runs a hand through his hair. “I don’t even know what that’s supposed to mean.”

“As long as I didn’t sign the papers, we were still going to be married. As long as I didn’t sign the papers, then I still had some semblance of _you_. And I was scared that if I tried to talk you out of it and you rejected it, then- Then I’d lose you. For good.

“I only signed the papers today because I thought that you coming by with them meant that I had already lost you. I thought it was over. I thought that you were already over _me_.”

A voice comes from behind Niall, then, and it belongs to the date. “Excuse me, um- Should I just leave?”

Niall says ‘yes’ at the same time Harry says ‘no’. Then, Niall says ‘yes’ a second time, whilst Harry remains silent. They hold each other’s gaze, stern and unwavering, even as Harry’s date actually does get up to leave. And Niall is beyond happy, and hopeful, about the fact that Harry doesn’t even try to stop him. He thinks it means that he’s making progress.

“You know- I don’t even know why I’m standing here talking to you,” Harry says, then, despite having just stood by while his date left the café. “It’s over, Niall. The papers have already been filed.”

“I know. But even if they do get pushed through, that doesn’t mean that you can’t come back home,” Niall murmurs. “It doesn’t mean that we can’t be together. I mean, so what- We can get re-married-“

“You want to get re-married?” Harry asks. His voice cracking is a mirror to the resolve in him that Niall can see cracking.

Niall smiles, albeit sort of weakly. “I want... I want whatever means that I get to keep you. I just want to be with _you_. I don’t- Harry, I don’t want this to be the end for us. This can’t be the end for us.”

He’s met with silence, on Harry’s part. With a quiet concentration. And he hates it. Because, for the first time, Niall can’t read him, can’t tell what he’s thinking. He can see the wheels turning, but he doesn’t know what it means. Harry’s eyes have gotten softer, compared to when he’d first laid eyes on Niall. His whole body seems softer too – or, at least less tense. It’s like he wants to believe Niall. It’s like he, too, wants a second chance, but perhaps he’s just too afraid to admit it.

“Please, Haz,” Niall whispers. He lifts his hands up to cup Harry’s face, brushes the pads of his thumbs across Harry’s cheeks. “I know it’s scary. I’m- Fucking terrified too, okay? But, please- Please tell me you still want this.”

Harry licks his lips. “Are you sure _you_ want this? Are you sure you don’t just, like- Feel guilty, or something?”

Niall smiles as he shakes his head, cards his fingers through Harry’s hair and intertwines them behind Harry’s neck as he presses in closer. The fact that Harry not only lets Niall get this close to him, but also lets his own hands fall to settle on Niall’s hips, makes Niall’s heart beat faster. It’s so loud, that he’s almost positive that Harry can hear it too. “I know I’m an idiot,” he whispers. “I know that I don’t deserve a second chance. I know that I’ve got issues. And I know that I waited way too long to sort them out.

“But I also know that I’ve literally _never_ wanted anything more in my entire life.”

Two things happen, then, and they happen simultaneously. One, the dimple appears in Harry’s cheek when he smiles. And, two, Niall almost – _almost_ – starts to believe in soulmates when Harry kisses him. Harry’s lips are soft, and yet firm. His kiss is hard and desperate, like he’s been starving for it and craving it, and yet his kiss is also soft and romantic, like something out of a poem or a love song or the cheesiest rom-com known to man.

Kissing Harry – loving Harry, has always felt different from anything else he’s ever experienced with anyone else. But this- This is different, altogether. It’s like he finally understands, now, why it never felt right with anyone else.

Harry’s panting when he pulls back, only to press their foreheads together. “If we do this- I do have a few conditions.”

“Name ‘em,” Niall murmurs.

“I need you to be more open with me,” Harry says softly. “You’d been opening up more, those last few weeks, but- Like- Next time someone tries to kiss you, I’d like to know about it – and not just because I’m stupidly insecure about the way people look at you.”

“You’re not stupid,” Niall whispers. “But- Done.”

“And if there’s anyone else you wanted to marry before me that I should know about, then now would be a great time to tell me.”

“There’s nobody else. There won’t ever be anyone else.”

“Okay.” Harry nods. “Good.”

“Anything else?”

“Yeah, um- I’d like to meal prep more. For the both of us. I mean- Unless you think that we should, like, date first and then get married sometime in the future, like normal people.”

Niall shrugs. “Anything you want.”

“We’ll talk about it,” Harry says. “What are your conditions?”

“Don’t have any.”

“Niall,” Harry mutters, pulling back all the way this time, despite Niall’s protests. He sits back down in his chair, and motions for Niall to take the chair that had temporarily belonged to his date. “It’s a two-way street. If there’s anything you need from me to make it work for you, then you can tell me. You _should_ tell me.”

Niall pretends to think about it for a moment. “Alright, I have one.”

“Tell me.”

“Just- Love me, yeah? Just love me. That’s all I need.”

Harry smiles, reaches across the space between them for the hand Niall has on the table to intertwine their fingers. “Done,” he whispers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank everyone from the very bottom of my heart for how kind and supportive everyone has been to me during the journey that was this fic. I really appreciate how everyone has embraced it, and how everyone has loved these characters. This fic was hard to write at first, but I've actually become super proud of it.
> 
> So- Thank you, thank you, thank you. <3


	9. A Renewal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It starts with a video, taken without their knowledge, posted on Twitter. And it ends with the internet exploding:
> 
> Replying to @narrylover @NiallOfficial and @Harry_Styles: OH NY GOD MY BABIES
> 
> Replying to @narrylover @NiallOfficial and @Harry_Styles: ok but this so fucking cute, i’m so happy for them
> 
> Replying to @narrylover @NiallOfficial and @Harry_Styles: look at niall...LOOK AT HIM HES SO IN LOVE
> 
> H looks like he’s about to cry and me too honestly
> 
> Replying to @narrylover @NiallOfficial and @Harry_Styles: and they were SOULMATES
> 
> Replying to @narrylover @NiallOfficial and @Harry_Styles: is it just me or does it look like Niall just started to believe in soulmates?
> 
> @NiallOfficial and @Harry_Styles everybody else go home because these two win at life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A comment on the last chapter ignited the spark that created this lil surprise update. You know who you are, and I thank you.   
> And, again- Thank you all so much for the support and for loving this story as much as I do.

[A Renewal]

.

.

 

It starts with a video, taken without their knowledge, posted on Twitter. And it ends with the internet exploding:

Replying to @narrylover @NiallOfficial and @Harry_Styles: _ OH NY GOD MY BABIES _

Replying to @narrylover @NiallOfficial and @Harry_Styles:  _ ok but this so fucking cute, i’m so happy for them _

Replying to @narrylover @NiallOfficial and @Harry_Styles: _ look at niall...LOOK AT HIM HES SO IN LOVE _

_ H looks like he’s about to cry and me too honestly _

Replying to @narrylover @NiallOfficial and @Harry_Styles: _ and they were SOULMATES _

Replying to @narrylover @NiallOfficial and @Harry_Styles: _ is it just me or does it look like Niall just started to believe in soulmates? _

@NiallOfficial and @Harry_Styles _ everybody else go home because these two win at life _

+

And then the tabloids get a hold of it:

_ Niall Horan wins the world over with the romantic apology-meets-PDA ever  _

_ Niall Horan: King of turning divorce papers into [another] wedding proposal _

_ Narry: back on & more in love than anyone you know _

X

He doesn’t know why he’s nervous. It’s not like he’s never done this before. In fact, he has quite literally already married Niall Horan — and that was before he even knew who Niall was, before he’d even known Niall’s name. He’s already walked down the aisle, stood in front of some of the most important people in his life, and said I do. In fact, the only difference between today and the last time they did this — apart from the obvious — is that they aren’t technically getting married. They’re simply just renewing their vows. 

It’s nothing, really. Hell, they weren’t even going to make it a Thing; they would have both been just as happy to go down to the courthouse and do it there. But when Maura had gotten wind of their plans — aka: when Niall had made sure to tell her this time around — she had more or less demanded they have an actual ceremony on account of the fact that she so unfairly missed the first time Niall said “I do.”

And, well- Here they are. In their brand new home. And here Harry is, getting ready with his mum and his sister in the master bedroom while Niall gets ready in the living room. As he catches a glimpse of Gemma’s gaze through the mirror, a sense of déjà vu washes over him. (The only people missing are a full-on production and camera crew to film it. Instead, they’ve replaced by a mob of paparazzos outside the church’s front door.)

“You alright?” Gemma asks as she walks closer. 

“Yeah,” Harry breathes. “Yeah, I’m just-“

“Nervous?”

“I shouldn’t be. I know I shouldn’t be. I mean- I know how I feel, and Niall knows how I feel, but what if I forget what I want to say? What if we get up there and I freeze?”

“You never have liked public speaking,” his mum says, then, as she rubs a hand down Harry’s arm. “But this isn’t public speaking, love. This is your family, and your husband — all of which, especially that husband of yours, are crazy about you.”

“I know,” Harry whispers.

“Speak from the heart, Harry. That’s all today is about, after all, isn’t it?”

And- Yes. Yes, that’s all today is about. It’s about what’s in his heart. What he feels no longer scares him, nor does it scare Niall anymore. The idea of trying to put all of it into words, though, is what terrifies him.

X

“Mum, I swear to God, if you don’t stop fretting over my stupid tie then I’m going to kick you out of this room,” Niall sighs.

Maura stares at him as she continues to fret over his tie, as if challenging his words. “You wouldn’t dare.”

Niall groans. “I hate that you see right through me.”

“That I can, my boy. And don’t you forget it.” She winks as he brushes the imaginary dust from the tips of Niall’s shoulders. And then he just stared at him. Looks at him, like she’s taking him all in. She brushes her fingers through his hair, runs the backs of her knuckles down the side of his face. “My sweet boy,” she whispers. “My sweet, perfect baby son. Not a little boy anymore, though, are you?”

“Was it the height that tipped you off?” He teases, which immediately earns him a slap upside the head. “Or is the fact that you’re about to walk me down the aisle because you insisted on embarrassing me at my own vow renewal.”

“It’s neither of things, actually. And yet- It’s both of those things.”

His brow furrows in confusion.

“You’re just- You’re all grown up, in every way. And you’ve even managed to find love- A real, palpable love. It may have been a bit unorthodox in how it came to be, but it was no less genuine. I’m so proud of everything that you are, Niall. And I’m so, so happy that you’re so happy.”

Niall smiles, and his eyes sting as he holds back tears. “I am happy, mum. I’m so bloody happy.”

“Harry is the luckiest bloke on the planet,” Bobby says, appearing as though out of thin air beside them. He claps a hand down on Niall’s shoulder. 

“I reckon that’s  _ me _ , but-“ he cuts himself off with a shrug. “Speaking of, I’d like to go see him, if that’s okay.”

“It’s bad luck to see the husband before the wedding.”

“It’s not really a wedding though, is it? Lucky for both of us, we’ve already done that bit.”

“Alright, ya cheeky bugger,” Bobby laughs. “But don’t be too long.”

X

There’s a knock at the door — and then Niall poking his head around it as he opens it. He grins, “Hey, petal.”

Harry smiles, cocks his head to the side. “Aren’t you not supposed to see me until you want down the aisle?”

Niall smirks as he comes into the room. “Already did that, in more ways than one, haven’t I?”

Harry hums, reaches out to tug at the lapels of Niall’s suit jacket. “If you came in here for a quickie, you’ll have to wait. Mum and Gemma are in the toilet.” (The adjoining toilet, that is. Complete with two sinks.)

“Sounds fun, but that’s not why I’m here,” Niall starts to say — but, as if on cue, Anne and Gemma Both come out of the bathroom.

“Oh, hi sweetheart,” Anne says warmly as he bring Niall in for a hug. “You alright?”

Niall smiles. “I’m great. How are  _ you _ ?”

“I am marvellous, darling.”

“Couldn’t wait to just walk out into the backyard, could you?” Gemma chimes in, ruffling at his hair as she walks past the both of them. “So impatient.”

Niall rolls his eyes dramatically, despite the smile on his lips. “Suppose this is what I get for telling you I’d always wanted a sister?”

Gemma smirks, “You have no idea, Horan.”

Anne laughs, shakes her head as she ushers her daughter towards the door. “ _ We _ will go make sure everything is ready out back. Just remember that you’ve only got a few more minutes.”

Niall blinks, looks at Harry after Gemma and Anne have left the room. “Was that your mother’s way of telling us not to have a  _ quickie _ ?”

Harry grimaces. “Lets just- Not talk about it.” He reaches out, then, to fix Niall’s hair — which his sister had so lovingly tousled.

Niall hums. “Should we talk about why you’re so nervous instead?” he asks with a soft laugh that makes Harry’s insides melt.

It’s no surprise, really, that Niall has caught on with the way Harry has been fidgeting. He reckons it’s also no surprise that Niall  _ isn’t _ nervous. “I just- I want it to be perfect, you know?” Harry murmurs, licking his lips. “We didn’t have a lot, or any, control last time. We didn’t know what we were doing. And I want this to be perfect.”

Niall smiles, shakes his head as pushes a strand of Harry’s hair away from his face.

“How are you  _ not _ nervous?” Harry asks in return, eyebrow cocked curiously.

“Because today is already perfect,” Niall says.

Harry’s heart flutters at how the softness of Niall’s voice is reflected in Niall’s eyes.

“I’m re-devoting myself to you, and that’s as perfect as today needs to be,” Niall explains.  “Everything else is just...extra, you know? The actual act to saying our vows is only half of it. The rest is...how we feel. And we already know how we feel, right?”

“Right,” Harry whispers.

“Right,” Niall whispers back. “And that’s why today is already perfect.”

Harry smiles, wraps his arms around Niall’s neck and pulls him close. “I love you,” he sighs, pressing their foreheads together. “I’m so in love with you.”

“And  _ I’m _ so in love with  _ you _ , petal. Let’s go show everyone what having a soulmate feels like.”


End file.
